The Twelfth Hour Has Struck
by LucyFireTen
Summary: The Doctor has regenerated. Follow his adventures in space and time as he discovers the man he has become. Will he and Clara be able to deal with the changes? (I suck at summaries, it's better than it seems) Whouffaldi (Twelve x Clara). Angst/Fluff/Adventure... Series 8 AU. Reviews, comments and critiques are welcome! Enjoy :) [NOW COMPLETE!]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, dear reader. **

**I started this story way before Series 8 started, and even though I completed it in 2015 I never tried to adapt it to what was happening on screen: this wanted to be what I imagined series 8 and the Twelfth Doctor would be like, and that's what you're going to find if you keep reading. Since I had it all planned before I actually wrote it down, you will find some things very contrasting with the canon and others that are very similar (for casual and unfortunate coincidence), especially in the last chapters, but I didn't want to change anything anyway.**

**TW: mention (just mention) of rape, murder, death penalty.**

**I hope you enjoy this story, and I'll appreciate it if you want to drop a review, be it compliments or constructive criticism. Enjoy the fic :)**

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"Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?"

Clara's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She was still shocked by his sudden regeneration and all the events of that impossible Christmas Day and now, now he didn't even remember how to fly the TARDIS. This could be far too much.

"No." The Doctor said, "No no no. Wait. Ah!" he grinned "TARDIS! Time Lord!" his grin turned manic. "Yeah. Hmm…lever, yes!" he pulled down a lever. "And… this!" He pushed a button and the TARDIS's walls stopped shaking, and her sound turned into the gentle humming she made when they were in the Vortex.

"Here we are! Safe and sound."

He proudly clapped his hands once to underline his success. In that moment he seemed to realize something, and he looked surprised. He gazed at his hands, eyes wide open, over-sized grey eyebrows raised:

"New hands! That's odd" he stated, examining the palms and the backs of his hands repeatedly. "I like them, though… let's see…" he took his fingertips to his neck, and slowly, almost shyly, he went up. "…oooh. Normal-sized chin! That's good. That's very good…" both his hands kept going up. "…hmm. I don't like the nose. Oh, but I've had worse. Eyes, two, very well. And…oooh yes, normal-sized ears too. Thank Rassilon. Love them. Hmm… hair…curly? Oh, it's been a while. Wait. I need a mirror."

With that, he turned on his heels and headed to the wardrobe in quick steps, without a single glance at Clara, who could simply blink, stunned, as she heard his steps trail off. She heard a door slam and then a distant voice shout in a sharp Scottish accent:

"_No! Not again! Again! I'm not ginger!_"

Clara sighed and leaned against the console, intending to wait for him, desperately trying to hold back her tears.

The young human understood that he had regenerated, she had known all his faces. And indeed he was always the same man, basically. Rationally, her brain did know all of this. But, sentimentally, her heart didn't care at all. She missed _her_ Doctor already. She missed his green puppy eyes, so young and so ancient at the same time. She missed his childish manners and his playful little smiles. She missed his stupid bowtie, his floppy hair and his ridiculous chin. Clara missed the man she had fallen in love with and given her life for, the man who was now buried somewhere behind the silver hair and the ice-blue eyes. Still, he was buried.

When the new Doctor didn't return for several minutes, Clara took a deep breath and decided to go looking for him. She would have time to cry for her Doctor later: now, this Doctor may need her, and she had to be there for him. Maybe it was hard -and, oh, it was- but she was his companion, and she had to be with him despite his face, despite everything.

Clara rubbed her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt, and headed to the wardrobe.

In front of the door, she knocked, twice, very gently.

"Doctor? Can…can I come in?"

"You can if you want" his new voice answered.

Clara opened the door and stepped inside, finding him in front of a full-length mirror: he had changed. He wore dark trousers and black shoes, a white shirt, a dark-blue waistcoat and a jacket of the same blue, even if with red lining. He was now brushing his hair lightly, staring intently at his reflection:

He glanced at her by looking her reflection in the mirror.

"Hmm, silver hair" he said, "I think I like it. It was quite about time to grow up a little. I'm older this time. But you know what? I feel younger. Full of energy. New regeneration cycle." He rubbed his hands contently and turned towards her "I guess I'm…younger on the inside." He seemed to remember something all of a sudden, and smiled happily. "Clara." his grin grew wider. "My Clara."

His expression was light, tender, now so similar to her Doctor's one, and Clara noticed his ice-blue eyes weren't as cold as they seemed.

He stepped towards her and took a lightly shaking hand to her cheek. Clara covered his hand with hers and shivered as he gently caressed her face as her Doctor used to do.

"My Clara." He hadn't miss the fear and the concern in her eyes. "Same man. I'm the same man deep down."

Clara's hand left his and went to his cheek, barely brushing his jawline.

"You're not my ChinBoy anymore," she said in a trembling voice, eyes bright. She had thought she could do this, but now she realized that no, she wasn't ready. Actually hearing this man call her as _he _used to call her, feeling his hands touch her as _he_ used to touch her, was too much. Far, far too much.

His hearts stopped, and his gaze turned sad.

"I…I could still be your Doctor."

Clara said nothing. She seemed about to cry.

His hearts broke, at least a little bit. His predecessor would stop breathing and tremble slightly, his eyes would become bright with tears and he would beg her: please, please, don't leave me alone, I can't stay alone. But not this Doctor, no. His hearts had hardened during centuries protecting Trenzalore. He had become stronger. This incarnation wasn't going to be a sensitive, loving boy: his former self was fading, leaving him. He would maybe remotely resemble him for some minutes, but that man was dead.

The young Doctor with the bowtie was still a part of him, but he really was just that: one part of his complex personality, and not the part that was in charge now. That man was being buried, and every minute, every breath, every heartbeat was a little mass of earth thrown in his grave, on his corpse. Nonetheless, the same man was standing in front of Clara now, wearing a new outfit and a new face: same memories, same thoughts, same feelings. The same man.

This new Doctor knew who he wasn't, but he didn't know who he was yet. He needed time. But without doubt he was the Doctor. What he felt he could do was simply let Clara understand it as well. His Clara. His Impossible Girl.

He cupped her face with both hands and locked his eyes with hers, ice-blue meeting chocolate-brown for a second before she glanced away.

"Clara," he breathed, "My Clara. You are still my Impossible Girl. Clara… Look at me."

And finally, finally Clara looked, looked in those grey eyes and saw, just for an instant, a flash of green, a flash of her Doctor. Same centuries of pain and loss and regret, same wonder and curiosity and wanderlust, same selfishness and anger and hatred, same altruism and goodness and love. Same man, deep down.

"You're…you're still you," she said, two twin tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Yes. Still me."

Clara closed her eyes and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest and letting warm tears soak his jacket. The Doctor held her tight and kissed the top of her head.

"My Clara."

The old Doctor would probably break the embrace after a few seconds and make some joke, but this man was different. He hugged her tighter than ever, not embarrassed of physical contact or afraid of hurting her, and he didn't let go of her, letting her cry all her tears. His lips curved ever-so-slightly in a smile at the thought that, actually, she was crying for him. A past him, of course, but still him. New discovery: in this body, he was selfish. He didn't mind that much that she was crying: the woman he loved was holding him tight, crying for him, and he didn't even have to worry about some other man consoling her, because _he_ was consoling her. His lips curved a little more and his heart flipped contently. Wait. Heart? Singular? Oh, dammit. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

"Aaah. C-Clara?"

Clara was just starting to calm down and try to stop her sobs.

"C-Clara…I've-I've…only one heart's working…aaah"

He pulled away from his companion and clutched at his chest, wincing in pain. He fell on his knees, then struggled to make himself stand again. Clara was shocked at the beginning, but after a few seconds she helped him on his feet. He was breathing heavily and his eyes were shut.

"Doctor, what do I do?" Clara asked, putting one of his arms around her shoulders and trying to support him.

He inhaled sharply and tried to find some strength to answer.

"Take me to the TARDIS's infirmary…pro-problem is I can't quite remember where the hell it was."

His former self wouldn't take this seriously. He would joke, find the ironic side, maybe he would even find this the slightest bit exciting, or even funny. This new Doctor, on the other hand, was not amused. Not remotely amused.


	2. Chapter 2

"Why do you keep forgetting things?" Clara asked, breathing heavily, doing her best to keep walking, the Doctor's weight almost fully on her shoulders.

"Side-effects of regeneration" he answered, supporting himself with one hand on the wall, "I-I need some sleep… my nerve cells need time to re-organize." He gasped, and a breathing of golden energy came from his mouth. "Aaah. Ho-how do you humans manage with only one heart? Ah, no. Wait. Next door on the right."

"Are you sure? It is at least the tenth door we-"

"It's the seventh, Clara, and yes, I'm sure." Not true. He still didn't remember where the infirmary was, and he was going random, but he would never admit it. Maybe, he was proud this time around.

Clara opened the door to find an unpretentious room, with a small single bed covered with dusty sheets and an old desk. On a battered bedside table there were a jug of water and a glass. Basically, a long-forgotten guest room.

"Doctor…" she began. It was becoming impossibly hard to bear his weight, and her shoulders were aching.

He sighed. "It's okay, Clara. I just need a bed."

With only one heart beating, his blood couldn't quite reach properly every part of his body. He felt tired and weak and he could not believe that he had been in perfect shape just a few minutes before. The side-effects of his regeneration had caught him off-guard, like a delayed-action bomb.

Clara helped him to sit on the bed and the Doctor barely left her the time to put off his jacket before letting himself fall on the mattress.

"Doctor-" she began again.

"Shush. I don't have much time. I didn't realize at first, but it was a hard regeneration for me, Clara. New regeneration cycle. It wasn't supposed to happen… but it's okay" he added quickly, noticing concern on her face "I'll be fine. But I need to sleep. And…Clara, the TARDIS needs time to fix her face too. We shouldn't stay inside while she does that… and considered her antipathy for you… you wouldn't be safe, so don't wander off. She will be deleting and archiving rooms. Stand… stand by me."

Clara nodded slightly. She didn't want to have to deal with a quite hysterical, post-regeneration TARDIS. Plus, she wouldn't leave the Doctor alone anyway, not now that he felt…well, she didn't know how he felt, after regeneration and everything, but she had the feeling he needed her.

"I'll be right here, okay? You can rest, don't worry."

"Good," he said, closing his eyes and resting his hands on his chest.

It wasn't entirely true that she wasn't safe, because despite the TARDIS being quite temperamental, the ship would never let someone her thief loved risk her life. It was simply that the Doctor wanted Clara near him, because he needed her, even if this new face would never admit it.

He had always lied, and a lot, but he hadn't been so selfish in a while, he thought. Though, if the result was Clara listening to him and standing by him like this, well, he just couldn't complain for this new version of himself. With this last thought, his lips curved in a little half-smirk, and he fell fast asleep.

Clara noticed his lips curve ever-so-slightly, and she wondered what he was thinking. Shortly after, his breath became regular and his whole body relaxed. As his right hand slipped down from his chest to the mattress, Clara instinctively knelt near the bed and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. Without realizing it, she placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. Only when she heard his now both steadily-beating hearts she noticed her actions. She had been moving automatically. Maybe, deep inside, she knew that he was still the Doctor, after all. His double heartbeat helped her accept it, and she smiled, relaxing as he had done, and she leaned against the bed, adjusting herself in a more comfortable position.

Clara had been through a lot of things that mad Christmas. Emotionally, she had never been so tired. The mattress was soft, the Doctor's hand was warm against hers, and the regular rhythm of his hearts was lovingly lulling her: a minute after, she fell asleep without even noticing.

~oOo~

Clara awoke with a start, and somehow she knew that the walls had quaked and that she had heard a loud noise in her sleep. The girl was still leaning against the bed, head on the Doctor's chest. He was still asleep, but he moved slightly and inhaled sharply, and Clara felt his heartbeats become somewhat erratic and faster.

It happened again: the whole TARDIS trembled and Clara noticed the previously gentle humming of the ship had turned into a dull noise. Eyes wide open, the girl glanced anxiously at the Time Lord, who was simply stirring in his sleep, and still wasn't awake. The walls quaked again and she rapidly made a decision.

"Doctor," she called, gently shaking his shoulder, "Doctor, you need to wake up. Doctor!"

The walls quailed once more.

"Doctor! I'm… I'm getting really scared, okay? _Doctor!_" she half-shouted.

The man suddenly opened his eyes and sat up.

"What?" he exclaimed. "What is it?"

The TARDIS shook again and her noise grew louder.

"Oh, no no no. This is bad."

"Doctor?"

"Shush, again, Clara, I don't have tim- aaah" -he winced- "My head. Listen, you woke me up too soon. It seems that the Old Girl won't be able to stay in the Vortex for some time. She wants to spare energy for her changes. We're still in the Vortex for now but we're slipping out. We'll land very soon. And, Clara, when we land… a lot of… _things_ can smell regeneration energy. A lot of devices can detect it, they were very popular in the Time War, you know, they used them to find you and kill you while you were still regenerat-"

"Doctor," Clara said, interrupting him, "you're rambling. You said you didn't have time."

"Oh, yes, thanks dear. We can't trust the Old Girl now: whatever comes, I think it could enter. And, Clara," he locked his eyes with hers, and the human saw concern and anxiety in his blue irises, "whatever comes, it comes for me and me only. You'll have to be brave, Clara."

"No," she whispered, already suspecting what he wanted her to do.

"Yes. Brave, brave Clara. You're not safe here with me." He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "You have to run, and hide. Don't stop, don't look behind."

"Doctor-"

"I will be fine. I think the Old Girl loves me enough to deadlock this door, and nothing should enter. But if I'm wrong, it will be dangerous and I don't want you to be here if it happens. I want you safe, Clara, because I…" -he stopped and shook his head lightly- "…you're very important to me, Clara. Much more than you think."

Her heart stopped. Did he mean…? No. No, he meant that she was his companion, for sure. It couldn't be anything else.

The TARDIS started to quake insistently and with increasing intensity.

"You must go, Clara. Leave now, it is a matter of seconds before we land."

"I-I don't want to leave you" she uttered, voice a bit broken.

"You must. Go."

"Doct-"

"I'm glad you already like this new me so much, Clara, but I thought you were the one who listened to me. Don't disappoint me now."

"You said it wasn't safe to wander off."

"True, but if something enters in the TARDIS it will head right here. The Old Girl suddenly deleting rooms and changing corridors could be a difficulty, but maybe it will also help you run from whatever enters. Now go, I can't stay… be awake for lo-"

They heard a loud crash, and the walls finally stayed still.

"Go. We landed. Half crash-landed, I think. Leave, you must be as far as possible from here."

The Doctor gave her hand a last squeeze and let her get up. Clara glanced at him one last time.

"Leave," he whispered, then he his eyes fell close and he laid still on the bed.

Clara understood he had passed out. He needed that sleep. The least she could do was letting him rest without worries, listening to him. The girl took a deep breath and opened the door.

~oOo~

After at least two hours wandering in the TARDIS, without a single clue on where she was as corridors kept changing and rooms kept disappearing, Clara calmed down a bit. She had been anxious and hesitant at first, but now, everything considered, things weren't going too bad. The ship was silent, no strange terrifying noises or other things that could make Clara suppose that something was wrong. The Old Girl was also behaving relatively well: the lights were still on almost everywhere, she had found only three blind alleys, and only one holographic lion.

Her steps the only sound in the empty corridor, the young human arrived at a spot where the lonely corridor parted into three. Clara spent a second to decide if she should go straight on, turn right or turn left. She shrugged, and turned right. The way got zigzag. She had to turn right, then left, then right again, then go straight on for a long while and finally turn right: Clara sighed with disappointment when she found just a wall. Dead point. She inwardly cursed the TARDIS and turned her back, retracing her steps.

As the girl got close to the point where the corridor parted, unexpectedly she heard something: a dull tump far away in the ship, which sounded incredibly similar to a door banging. Something being hit. The noise vibrated through the TARDIS's walls again and again, growing louder and louder, then suddenly stopped. At the point where Clara had turned right at first, she froze, utterly frightened. She was now distinctively hearing _voices_. _Voices_. Clara shuddered: if a simple noise could be the TARDIS fixing her face, _voices_ couldn't. _Voices _was definitively bad.

The Doctor wasn't wrong.

Something could enter.

Something had come in.

Clara pressed her body against the wall in a vain attempt to feel safer, the cold metal sending chills down her spine, as she heard the voices approach.

They became closer.

And closer.

And closer.

The broken whispers became phrases, spoken aloud and clear by metallic voices.

The phrases became shouts, yelled with anger and hatred.

'_It can't be.'_ Clara thought.

But she knew she was wrong. Her back slipped down the wall and she pressed her knees close to her chest.

"Explore. Explore. Everywhere. The Doctor is near!"

'_Not them, please. Not them.'_ Clara begged, to no one in particular. To anyone, in fact. Whoever could listen. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"The Doctor is our enemy. He must be defeated!"

"Please. No." Clara prayed one more time, her voice a broken breath, knowing it was useless. There was no mistake. No other possible explanation. The Doctor had said, those devices capable of detecting regeneration energy were popular in the Time War… and there was no way to misinterpret that shout, that battle cry, that single exclamation filled with a hatred that had lasted centuries… the same word repeated over and over and over…

"EXTERMINATE!"


	3. Chapter 3

"The Doctor will be exterminated! Detect him! Detect him! EXTERMINATE!"

Multiple dalek shouts reached her ears, and Clara knew they were close. Her legs were weak as she tried to hold herself up, supporting herself with one arm on the wall. She wiped up her tears brushing her face with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to bury all the painful memories of her echoes dying shot by Daleks, and especially the memory of Oswin Oswald, turned into a Dalek puppet.

"EXTERMINATE!"

They were so close now, that Clara could hear their movements. Trying not to panic, using every inch of her self-control, she started to walk, slowly, turning left where she had previously turned right, dragging her feet on the floor to avoid any noise that could alarm the aliens. As soon as she turned the corner, she began to walk faster.

"EXTERMINATE!"

Fear made her blood rush madly in her veins. Her heart pounded relentlessly with absurd strength and speed in her chest, as though afraid that each heartbeat could be the last. After a few metres, Clara couldn't take the tension anymore and she ran, ran with everything she had in her legs, her lungs forgetting to breathe, her mind completely blank with terror. The Doctor always said, always thought she was brave: she wasn't. She was for him, with him, when he was in danger or when he was by her side, and everything was going to be okay. Not now. Not like this, alone and hunted by the memories of her echoes and overwhelmed by the thought that the Doctor was alone as well, that he wasn't safe, that she wasn't there for him and that, even being with him, there was nothing she could do. What could a humble human do in front of a group of Daleks, apart of being shot in his place?

Something she would do gladly, anyway. Because, gods, she still loved him. Even with a new face, even with a new him running around that she didn't know yet, Clara knew her feelings hadn't changed. Because she had saw all -_all_\- his faces, and loved each of them. Even meeting his Time-War-self, the one that even the Doctor had despised and abhorred, not for one second she had felt repulsion or disgust. She had talked to him like to an old friend, understanding what his older selves hadn't understood yet: that he hadn't done _it _yet. Even when her Doctor, the loving boy, the madman, the wise young-ancient man, had his hand on the big red button, she had cried, but not because she was deluded or frightened of what he intended to do. No. No, she had just cried because she was sorry. Sorry for him, who didn't understand he was better than that and that he was, always had been and always would be a good man.

"Exterminate!"

The voices were trailing off, and Clara noticed that she had been running for long and that she was breathless. She started to breathe heavily, having forgotten to do it at all while running, sharply inhaling cool air, her legs suddenly aching for the effort of such a run. Before she could realize it, her knees were hurting more than ever in her many lifetimes, lifetimes spent running towards the Doctor.

Without noticing, she was walking again, her feet barely capable of keeping her standing. How far had she run? Clara didn't know. She kept walking, afraid of what could happen if she stopped, if she looked behind.

'_Don't stop, don't look behind'_ the Doctor's words echoed in her mind.

'_Brave, brave Clara.'_

"I'm not brave," she sobbed, "not when you're not with me."

Clara kept walking, not knowing where she was going, trusting that for once, just for once, the Old Girl could help her, hoping that the ship wasn't too busy with her regeneration to keep an eye on her. But, if Daleks could enter so easily…no. No, Clara didn't want to think of the worst, not even in the most desperate situation. No, she wouldn't give up to pessimism. She did still have hope. She had always been there for the Doctor, but he had always been there for her too. And Clara trusted him with her life. He would come.

Her steps became surer as the pain lessened and her hope grew: she hadn't heard Daleks in a while and more time passing meant more chances for the Doctor to wake up soon and find her, to be together once again.

Clara waited, walking, for long minutes.

Then for never-ending hours.

At some point the human decided she was walking in circle. Same doors, same turns…almost. Clara understood that somehow she was going back where she had started to run. Unwillingly, but inevitably.

She was so tired and so lost in thoughts of how much she wanted the Doctor to be on her side, holding her hand, making her feel brave again, that she didn't notice the voices becoming close again.

"Exterminate!"

The shout abruptly shook Clara from her thoughts and, unintentionally, she let out a scream.

Clara ran, fast, forgetting exhaustion, knowing that the Daleks would now chase her. At an intersection, she tuned left, ending up in a long corridor, turning right, then left, then right again, then go straight on for a long while and then… then, even before turning right again she knew that she was in the same corridor where she had previously been. She turned right and, as she expected, she found a wall.

Her heart stopped. No escape. No way out.

"Exterminate!"

Clara tried to run back, retracing her steps, but she knew. She knew that the Dalek was close. Too close. Too late.

"EXTERMINATE!"

The Dalek was in front of her, a few metres away. It turned towards her and its blue-lighted eye stared at her, almost staring into her soul. The human swallowed and shuddered, not knowing if it made sense to show bravery while being killed like this.

So, no good heroic death for the brave, brave Clara Oswald. She had started to imagine her end as a good one. Saving the Doctor's life, dying in his arms, watching tears roll down his cheeks for her loss, maybe telling him she loved him. Nothing of that was going to happen. She was going to die alone, in a damned corridor of that blasted ship, and she could never say goodbye to the Doctor. Maybe he didn't like endings, but sometimes they were needed, and Clara felt guilty about going like this, without saying goodbye, without a good word of consolation for him. After being with him always, she was going to leave him alone right when he needed her most.

The Dalek came closer. Clara broke down on her knees and her eyes became bright with tears. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to go. Not like this.

"EXTER-"

"Oi!"

Clara's heart skipped a beat, and she glanced at the Dalek. If Daleks had emotions -and they weren't supposed to have any- the one in front of her was frozen with fear.

"Oi, I said. Turn to face me when I'm speaking" the Doctor said, a gruff Scottish accent on his lips. He had a TARDIS-blue mug in his hand. His eyes were pure steel. "That girl, she is under my protection" he said, threateningly but never raising his voice. Because this is the Doctor's wrath: unexpected and silent like a sudden tropical storm. It arrives abruptly, without any warning, and it doesn't leave survivors.

As everybody could expect, the Dalek turned, but it wasn't to obey to the Doctor. It was to shoot him.

The Doctor was faster, though. The Dalek wasn't even half-turned when the Gallifreyan threw his mug, hitting the Dalek in the eyestalk, letting the mug hang there, a green, viscid liquid slipping out of it.

"Help! Help! My vision is impaired!" the Dalek yelled.

"Permanently, I fear. Out we go!" the Doctor exclaimed, gesturing at a wall as if opening an invisible door: a doorknob appeared under his fingers, and a door materialized. Before Clara could see what was behind it, the Doctor pushed the blinded Dalek in and closed the door, which returned invisible.

Without a second glance at it, the Doctor ran towards Clara, who was already stepping towards him, and pulled her into a tight hug. The tightest he had ever pulled her in. Clara found the dignity to not cry in front of him again, simply burying her head in his chest. His solid presence against her body was so reassuring that it quickly gave her the strength to suppress her sobs and search for his eyes.

Two ice-blue irises where already waiting to meet her brown ones. He kissed her forehead and tried to smile at her.

"My brave, brave Clara. It's alright now. I'm here."

"I know" she answered, desiring to forget everything as soon as possible. "You're okay?"

"Yes. Perfect shape. This time for real. I slept even too much."

"Wha-what about the other Daleks?" she asked, suddenly remembering hearing more than one voice.

"They are...indisposed" he stated, very coldly, an Oncoming-Storm-glare in his eyes.

Clara shuddered. "What's behind that door-"

"Believe me, you really don't want to know."

This wasn't exactly reassuring. Clara shuddered again. She had suspected something would have changed after the centuries of war on Trenzalore but…she shook her head. Not the right time to discuss. Plus, this wasn't completely unexpected: the Daleks, his oldest enemies, had entered his ship, taken advantage of his weakness and tried to kill not only him, but his companion too, and the Doctor could not bear this. But…Clara knew he didn't give second chances, but this time he didn't seem to have given the first either.

She held him for some more moments, trying to wipe away the nightmare of the last hours, then she broke the hug and let him firmly grab her hand and guide her along the corridors. Clara immediately noticed that his grip on her hand was different. Firmer, surer, tighter. It wasn't the gentle and shy hold of his former self.

After some minutes of awkward silence, Clara had recovered enough to try a conversation:

"What was that green rubbish you got in that mug, anyway?" she asked, fully certain that it couldn't be worse than fish fingers and custard, only to discover she was completely wrong.

"Cabbage-shake" he answered, smirking.

"You're kidding."

"Nope. It's good for my kidneys. They're still miscoloured."


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning -if mornings did exist in the Time Vortex- Clara entered the console room: the TARDIS really had redecorated. There light was a lot more blue and dim, and the lines of the console were gentler. The new Doctor waiting for her took her by surprise. She remembered that he had regenerated, but she wasn't used to it yet. Clara knew she was surely making a face, and he confirmed that as his eyes darkened. He looked hurt, and Clara immediately felt guilty: she hadn't done that on purpose, but anyway she didn't like hurting him.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," the Doctor replied.

He immediately noticed she hadn't said 'Hello, Doctor' but just 'Hello', and that she hadn't smiled at him or hugged him and kissed his cheek to say 'good morning'. He would never admit it, but it hurt: even though she knew he was the Doctor now and accepted it, it didn't come natural to her. With regeneration -and probably also with lying to her on Trenzalore- he had lost that friendly intimacy that he had gained with her, which he now longed for like never before.

Also, the Doctor didn't need his extraordinary brain to understand Clara had had nightmares: she looked tired and sad and her skin was dark around her eyes, barely hidden by the light make-up she usually wore. After a long moment of awkward silence, he spoke:

"You shouldn't worry about the monsters in your dreams, they're only in your head, you know," he said.

He didn't do feelings, he didn't do emotions. He remembered how his younger self used to take turns with Rory to handle Amy's emotions, and he felt even worst this time. He had a feeling this face was rubbish at this, but he had tried just because he hated to see Clara sad.

"I know, you know," she retorted sharply.

"_See? Rubbish," _the Doctor thought.

"I felt like I was supposed to say something," he muttered.

That was so unexpected that made Clara giggle.

"It's not working," she said.

"Oh really? Why are you laughing, then?" he asked, smirking.

Finally, Clara actually grinned and stepped closer to him, lightly shaking her head in playful resignation.

"Come on, Old Boy. Show me the stars," Clara demanded, smiling.

The Doctor gave her a wide, slightly manic grin, the one he always showed at some point in each of his faces, and hurried to the console.

As he pulled levers walking around the console, Clara took her time to study him. His moves were lean and elegant, deliberate and plain, so different from the casual, clumsy bouncing about of the younger Doctor. He made her think of some careful predator, like a silver wolf. He looked at the same time more serene and more thoughtful, compared to the sorrowful but energetic nature of his predecessor.

As they landed, he gallantly opened the doors for her.

~oOo~

Clara understood he was doing this for her, trying to take her to some place fun without running for their lives implied, like he had tried with their first adventure at Akhaten. But he was the Doctor and the TARDIS, even when she took him where he wanted, always took him when trouble needed to be solved.

So the Doctor had taken Clara to New Paris -New New New New New Paris, to be precise- and he seemed to succeed in his intent. The streets were lovely in the late afternoon, the red-and-orange sunset of two small twin suns making the atmosphere truly magic with a nice, dim light…but the streets were oddly half-empty, the Gallifreyan and the human almost the only people walking, the few staff members glancing nervously at them through the shop windows. The city looked half-desert and the atmosphere was tense, but nor the Doctor nor Clara had noticed. Or, more truthfully, they had noticed but they hadn't given any importance to it.

The Doctor and his companion walked hand in hand as the Time Lord told the girl everything he knew about that city, planet and solar system. This incarnation was different from most of the others, though: he didn't talk continuously at 100 miles per hour, hardly pausing to breathe. Instead, he had moments when he paused almost suddenly and stayed silent for minutes, as if lost in deep thoughts he didn't want to share, eyes darkened and more wrinkles forming on his forehead. Interrupting one of those moments, Clara almost involuntarily asked:

"How do you feel?"

She didn't know why she had asked, but the Doctor seemed so absorbed in his reflections that he looked like he was trying to find himself and, searching, was only finding more mysteries and doubts.

The Doctor turned to face her, a hesitant half-smirk on his lips that Clara supposed was the equivalent of the little cute smile of his former self.

"You know when you go to… the hairdresser and say 'okay, do what you want' and he styles your hair in a completely different way and you look at the mirror and you don't know if it looks like you? You almost don't recognise yourself just because your appearance changed? I feel like that."

Clara nodded absentmindedly, half of her brain reflecting on what he had said and the other half wondering when she would get used to his new voice and the Scottish accent.

Before they could fall in another moment of awkward silence -which had happened more than once in the last hours- they turned left and found themselves in the most important boulevard, which was a bit more crowded and lead straight to the New Eiffel Tower. Clara suddenly stopped walking at its sight.

The new Tower had gentler lines than the earthly one. It had basically the same shape, but the metallic structure was gone, or at least it wasn't visible, and the Tower looked like the original but seemed covered with modelling clay or something, white and slightly glowing. It was quite a beautiful sight, particularly in that moment when the sky was getting dark. Clara's mouth fell open in amazement, and she could hear the smile in the Doctor's voice as he spoke:

"Each New Paris built its own Eiffel Tower. This one has always been my favourite, it's quite clever. The structure of the Tower is covered with a particular kind of plants that grows in the forests of the third planet of this system, Karan-Tur. It's a kind of musk which possesses a natural phosphorescence. That's why the Tower glows," he explained. "And it smells good as well," he added, chuckling.

The Doctor smiled. He loved showing new things to Clara, and he liked the amazed expression on her face when he did so. A light shiver ran down his spine as he noticed how beautiful she was, the dim light making her skin glow and the lightest breeze playing with her long, dark hair.

"It's beautiful, Doctor," Clara said, "Can we get closer?"

The Tower was less than a kilometre away.

"Of course. That's what I had in mind. There is a lift to the top. We could go have a look," he answered, smirking.

"Sounds like a plan. I thought you weren't one for plans," Clara said, smiling.

"New face, new rules."

The Doctor had just finished the sentence when they heard an explosion: a second later the base of the Tower was on fire.

~oOo~

The Doctor and Clara had a hard time running towards the Tower between the many people running in the opposite direction, and the Time Lord didn't bother looking back to Clara as her hand left his, assuming that she was probably just trying to avoid bumping into someone and certain that she would be right behind him.

As the Doctor got close to the Tower, already able to feel the heat of the flames in the air, he realized just how bad the situation was: a maniple of human-like soldiers wearing grey uniforms and a few policemen were desperately trying both to extinguish the fire and to save the few people who were still on top of the Tower.

A young brown-haired soldier approached the Doctor, carrying his gun with both hands.

"You can't stay here, sir. This place is now under the responsibility of the Per-human Army. Leave now or I will be forced to escort you-"

The Doctor interrupted the soldier, rapidly showing him his psychic paper. The Per-human turned pale and instantly saluted the Doctor.

"I-I beg your pardon, General Smith, I-"

"You can call me 'the Doctor'. Consider it a code name. What's your name, soldier?"

The Time Lord took a quick mental note: he quite liked the salute, this time round.

"Kinds. Sergeant Alan Kinds, sir. May I ask, why would you honour us with your presence, sir?"

"Just passing by. What's happening here?"

Alan looked startled and gave him a questioning look.

"Sir?"

The Doctor wasn't exactly using his best military talk. He knew better than that.

"I demand a detailed report of our current situation."

"The Sontarans attacked, sir" -the Doctor tried to prevent his eyes from widening, succeeding only partially- "we didn't expect them to make a move directly against the city, the last reports attested their position miles away from here. It was quick, just sabotage. The arsenal under the Tower is lost. We haven't killed or caught any of them, they placed the explosives and ran, unseen. The guards are dead, and there are some wounded between civilians…" -he turned to check the others still trying to extinguish the fire- "…but the fire will be sorted soon. We have the situation under control."

"I know it may sound like an odd question, but take it as test: can you tell me how this war began, hmm?" He needed to know exactly _when_ he had landed. He honestly hadn't checked, as always.

The soldier hesitated, a bit doubtful, then started: "Three years ago, the Sontarans declared war, to claim the still uninhabited parts of the planet, which were vast since this is the only big city and only the nearby areas were colonized in the first place. However, we weren't willing to give up the planet because we had got here first, so the war started. The Sontaran spaceships besieged the planet, but our fleet was ready and our sky defences were strong. Sometimes we won, sometimes we lost. But none of the armies got an overwhelming victory. We became worried that the war could last years without a winner, so no wonder that we accepted almost instantly when the Sontarans asked for peace."

The Doctor nearly choked on his breath. The Sontarans, the most belligerent race in the universe, who loved a battle like a child loves Christmas, had asked for _peace_?

Alan went on: "The treaty was simple, really. Quite fair. Half of the planet to us, half to the Sontarans. They would take half of the planet, the half still uninhabited, instead of a decades-lasting war. We accepted gladly, but it was a trap. It was a simple stratagem to obtain some territories, set their headquarters and attack us from both sky and ground."

The Doctor listened carefully. Sontarans. And Per-humans, one of the many races that had descended from humans. A planet split into two. He had read that story: the Per-humans would win, the Sontarans would have to retreat. At some point in the war, a scientist would invent a new weapon, based on chemicals, and the Per-humans would use it, ignoring all interplanetary rules, to end the war they were going to lose otherwise.

The Gallifreyan frowned. He didn't like the situation he had bumped into. That particular war had been -or was going to be- extremely cruel, violent, almost feral: Sontarans weren't exactly fairplayers and, let's admit it, Per-humans weren't either. The Doctor could also feel something approaching, a fixed point, probably a pitched battle. He had to be quick if he didn't want to become part of the events and be forced to stay until history was decided. No, he wasn't going to put Clara through all that. He had put her through so much already. He turned to face her:

"I made a decision, Clara. We are leaving now-"

Both his hearts skipped a beat when he saw that Clara _wasn't behind him_.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara knew she had lost her way. Just a second, the time to avoid someone running in the opposite direction, and she had left the Doctor's hand. Clara was small and the Doctor ran fast: and she had lost sight of him in an instant in the crowd. She knew he had headed to the Tower, but without him it was difficult to walk towards it because of the many people doing the opposite. She had got there after several minutes and there was no sign of him -or of anyone at all.

Clara supposed he had noticed her absence and had gone back to the TARDIS. Even if he were looking for her somewhere, he would surely return to the TARDIS in the end. The best thing she could do was go back herself, but she suddenly realized she didn't have a clue on where she was. Of course, she remembered from which boulevard she had reached the Tower square, but nothing more than that, nothing more than a direction. Sighing in resignation, she started to walk that way.

The girl didn't like the idea of the Doctor wandering alone. He always got into trouble. No matter how different this incarnation was, that was something that would unlikely change. Clara didn't know why she was so… protective, with him, a fully grown up man for possibly every species in the universe. She could only assume it was instinct, as she was a nanny and a teacher and he was a huge child inside, had been little more than a teenager even physically in his last body. Looking at it in a rational way, there was nothing rational in her desire to keep him safe, to protect him, to do anything for him. But love isn't rational, is it?

It wasn't like she didn't fear for herself, alone in a foreign city -foreign _planet_\- with the night already dark and the streets empty… but she always forgot to worry about herself, someway. He came first, always, and she realized only later that she was in trouble herself. It was a wrong attitude, she knew that, totally against natural self-preservation, but she couldn't help it.

Clara knew she wasn't going in the right direction. She didn't remember a thing of the streets she was walking, which were getting narrower, darker, dirtier. The kind of streets that her Victorian echo's memories -and others- clearly identified as 'not to be walked alone'.

After a while, she noticed a sensation, like an prickle in the back of her head: that feeling you get when someone is watching you. She started glancing back every few steps, trying to confirm her suspects. She saw nothing at first, but then, just for a second, she took a glimpse of a shadow. The shadow of someone, following her. Clara started to walk faster, and she heard many hurried steps behind her. Running seemed useless, so she took a deep breath and turned to face whatever was chasing her. While moving, she heard shots and once she was facing the way she had come from she saw this: three Sontarans, who had apparently been following her, and behind them the Doctor and two men in grey uniforms. In order, Clara noticed the following things: the gun in the Doctor's hand, the frozen expression on the Sontarans' faces as they fell on their knees, dead, and the Doctor's eyes fixed on her, steel-grey.

~oOo~

"I can't believe you're leaving like this!" Clara said, almost shouting, as the Doctor roamed around the console, pulling levers.

The Doctor hadn't said a word or looked at her all the way to the TARDIS, but she didn't need anything else but his eyes, that second on the street, to know that there was a storm inside him, waiting to come out. So she had been silent, till now.

"I don't care about what you believe in, Clara Oswald. This is what I'm doing, and you're not the boss of me," he retorted coldly.

He was trying to hold back and stay calm, but he wasn't going to succeed, he knew that.

The second he had realized that Clara was in danger and he wasn't with her, he had hardly been able to think straight. He had needed all his self-control gained in centuries to think coldly, rationally. He had organised the defences of the city and took enough men to search for her. He had been mad with concern…no. With utter fear.

He was angry with himself because he had lost sight of her, he hadn't looked after her, he had…taken things for granted, taken _Clara_ for granted, when he should know that he could _so easily_ lose her. He was angry with himself, but he was in a way, in this body, which wouldn't allow him to regret anything or blame himself. So he blamed Clara.

"They're _at war_, you can't just _leave_!" she said, following him around the console.

"They're going to _win_," he answered, exasperated, briefly facing her before pushing another button, "_What's the use_ of me messing everything up?"

"You could save lives! You always do! Many more could survive if you just helped them!"

"I can feel something approaching. What if it's a fixed point, hmm? We couldn't leave for _God knows_ how much. And we would be in the midst of one of the most violent wars _ever fought_. _I am not_ risking _my_ life, _and yours_, for the ones of some strangers!" He pulled a last lever and the TARDIS began to dematerialize with her usual noise.

"You used to care about 'strangers'," Clara said, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket to force him to face her.

"Never, _never_ over the ones that were closer to me," he replied sharply, his eyes a few millimetres from hers. "_Never_, do you hear me?"

He had always cared more about his companions, but he had made _mistakes_ in the past. Tried to save the day despite his life, despite the life of the ones he loved. Ten and ten times more. Why didn't he just _leave_, and save them? What, just because he was the last of his kind -not anymore, by the way- he didn't have the right of being a bit selfish and choose who he wanted to save? He had thought he hadn't. He used to think that his hands were soaked with the blood of his own people and therefore he didn't deserve anything. But now, now he knew the truth and yes, he was going to be selfish, for once. For all the times he had been altruist and sacrificed himself.

"This isn't you. You know better than this," Clara stated, voice broken, eyes slightly bright.

"This isn't me, hmm? Let me tell you one thing, Clara Oswald: _you don't know me_. Not yet. I've spent centuries of my life on Trenzalore, you _don't know_ what it did to me. I'm never letting time, or destiny, or whatever choose for me again. I will never end up stuck in a situation like that again."

"It was your choice to stay!"

"Can you really choose when you don't have an alternative?"

"You had one, but you used to know which the right thing to do was."

"The right thing? And who should tell me what's right and what's wrong? The law? I've never listened to any."

"You used to have rules."

The TARDIS landed with a small *tud*.

"_My_ rules. And _I _can change them."

Clara shook her head. "When you'll cleared your mind, I'll be in my bedroom," she said, turning towards the corridors.

"No. You're going home."

Clara froze. "Are you leaving me?"

That shook the Doctor's spirit in a way he hadn't expected.

"No," he said, taking her hand in his and locking her eyes with his. "Never. Unless that's what you want. I want time for myself, to think. I will come next Wednesday."

The girl looked straight in his eyes, now of a surprisingly light blue. The Doctor had always been made of opposites, always been capable of changing mood in a second. And now like never before. Clara hesitated before asking the question that had been suspended between them since Christmas…

"Will you? Will you come back?"

"I will. I have no way to prove you that I'm telling the truth, but I will come back."

The Doctor wasn't even sure he could lie to her with this face the way he had done on Trenzalore: looking straight into her eyes, telling he would never leave her again when he had intended to leave her forever.

Clara glanced away. She would never stop trusting him, if with trust you mean keep believing a person won't disappoint you even though he has disappointed you again and again, keep believing he will speak the truth even though he has lied to you again and again.

The human left the Doctor's hand and opened the doors.

"See you."

"Yes," he replied.

~oOo~

The Doctor didn't travel fast-forward to next Wednesday, for once.

He went adventuring, testing his new body, taking his time to discover himself. He was reckless, nothing scared him. No danger was too much for him when he knew that Clara was safe at home.

And he took time to think, as he had said.

The Gallifreyan was more than worried by the way his young companion affected him. He should have noticed that something was wrong, that day in New Paris, but he hadn't. Why? Because when Clara was around he could hardly think straight. He had been too busy admiring the way the light played with the beautiful brown of her her hair at sunset to pay attention to what was around him. He didn't need to think much about it to know he was head over heels in love with her.

He knew that already, of course. He hadn't needed a lot of time to start fancying her, but he hadn't known who she was back then, and part of his hearts still belonged to River Song. He had needed a jump in his time stream and a tearful goodbye to his wife to clear up his mind…and the second he had understood, on Trenzalore, that he could never get out of that planet alive, he had also understood he was in love with Clara and he would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. So he had sent her away, also because he couldn't bear the thought of burying her, of saying goodbye. He would be happy to know she was alive, somewhere, somewhen on Earth, even though he could not see her again.

No wonder he had fallen for her: she was clever, brave, cared about him like no one else and never accepted 'no' as an answer…just like a young blond girl who had stolen his hearts so much time before. Rose and Clara had so much in common. They were different, of course, but the story hadn't changed: a good, beautiful, gentle young woman had helped him in his darkest times, made him a better man; he had slowly, inevitably fallen for her innocence, so different from the blood-soaked man he believed himself to be, then he had regenerated and she had been the first face he had seen. When something like that happened with someone you already loved, your hearts would belong to that person. No way to escape. He could never love anyone but Clara Oswald in this life, just like he couldn't love anyone but Rose Tyler in his tenth.

It was a different kind of love -purer, tenderer- compared to his love for River. River had been a whole other business, being _like him_. A liar, someone ready to do any sort of things, especially if he was in danger, she wasn't nice or delicate or innocent. She wasn't shy and accommodating, she had pushed him in their relationship, not really caring if he was okay with that… and he had loved it. Because in that life he had needed someone to push him to do the things he hadn't the bravery to allow himself, and someone able to take every bit of him, good or bad, luminous or dark, and accept it, love it. And River Song had been that person.

After River, everything had been different. He had learned that it was useless to hold back and play the role of the best friend like he had done with Rose: separation hurt anyway. He wouldn't be able to hold back, anyhow: he didn't need much time to understand that this incarnation was a man of short temper and rough passions. Something that scared him, by the way: he had a feeling he could tear the universe apart for Clara, for her and her only, to keep her safe and alive and by his side.

The Doctor spent time figuring out how to behave. He was sure that Clara had loved the younger Doctor, but she would need time to get used to this new him. He couldn't rush things. And after all, he didn't want to. He needed time himself. Getting involved in a life-changing relationship wasn't something that he trusted leaving to a newly-regenerated, untested him.

When he had 'cleared his mind' -Clara's words- he went to her next Wednesday.


	6. Chapter 6

The week from Thursday, 26th December 2013 to Wednesday, 1st January 2014 was the longest Clara Oswald ever lived.

The Doctor had dropped her the day after Christmas, which was fine because it had let her avoid a quite upset family waiting for explanations on a naked Swedish boyfriend. She phoned to her dad and invented some excuse anyway, just to save some appearance. Not that she cared much. Once home, she sat abruptly on the sofa and let herself sink into it. Her heart felt empty in a way she couldn't quite describe. She closed her eyes and tried to form the image of the Doctor in her mind. The eleventh, with floppy brown hair and that ridiculous chin, a fez and a bowtie. The twelfth, with greying hair and ice-blue eyes and his short temper. She missed the younger Doctor, so much, but she knew that the older was just the same man…more broken than the eleventh when her Victorian echo had met him, but still the Doctor. She was already…_fond_ of him. And how couldn't she, when he had saved her twice already…

Oh, she was angry with him of course, but fear was overwhelming anger now. She trusted him when he said he would come next Wednesday, but the irrational fear of him never coming back never left her, all week long. Just because it wasn't so irrational: he had lied to her twice, so her brain wouldn't let her calmly hope and wait for him, no. It had to torment her with such worries. She kept telling herself it was silly, they had argued yes but nothing that was bad enough to… or was it?

The whole week long Clara kept going on like this -Christmas holidays meant no school, so no distraction with work for her- just wandering nervously all around her apartment with no purpose at all, burning a considerable number of soufflés and dreaming of the younger Doctor regenerating or of her argument with the older Doctor or of her, sitting on the doorsteps of her own house, looking at a wristwatch, waiting in vain for him.

Finally, Wednesday arrived and she found herself sitting outside just like in her dreams, trying to take deep breaths and keep calm.

'_It's not time yet.'_

'_It's early.'_

'_He'll come.'_

She kept trying to reassure herself.

Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS. She distinctively felt her heart clench and then expand, and she smiled in spite of herself. Without noticing, she was already standing and had taken a step towards the blue box.

The Doctor stepped out of the time machine with a fluid, lean move and a serious, calm expression on his face.

Clara had promised to herself that she still had a dignity, that she was angry with him and wasn't going to simply run into his arms as if he were a missing piece of her soul… but she did exactly that. She ran towards him and flung her arms round his neck. Her legs hurt in the effort of tiptoeing him, but she didn't care.

He didn't hug her back, at first. He kept his arms crossed between their bodies, pretending he was still angry, that he didn't need that simple physical contact, that he hadn't missed her like a thirsty man misses water… but he wasn't that capable of resisting her, in the end. He broke the embrace only to pull her in a new one, holding her as tight and close as he could. She buried her face in his chest and he rested his head on hers, revelling in the scent of her hair. After a while he pulled her away to look into her eyes.

"You see, I came for you, dear."

Clara sensed he simply wanted to hear 'you were right, Doctor. You always are', but she was so happy she didn't have a clever answer in that moment.

"You did."

They parted, but her hand remained in his. The next thing Clara expected was an apology for his sharp words one week before, but the apology didn't come.

"Shall we go, miss Oswald?" he asked instead, a little half-smirk on his face.

Clara hesitated. She had a feeling that he wasn't apologizing because he was firmly convinced he had been right, not simply because he was acting like nothing had happened. That worried her, because she thought that he had been wrong, but she didn't have the strength to argue again now. That was the problem with him: all her resolutions always flew out of the proverbial window. She sighed softly.

"Yes. Yes. Let's go," she said.

~oOo~

Clara never got the apologies she had been waiting for. To speak the truth, in the following weeks she never heard the Doctor apologise for anything, not even a little "sorry". "Please" and "thank you" were rare: he usually took what he wanted, he didn't need permission and often took things for granted. It was tough for her, at times. He had the shortest temper ever seen, quick and stormy in his anger and everything but forgiving: this face truly deserved the name of 'Oncoming Storm'. He tried to be different with her, but he hardly ever succeeded and they often ended up arguing anyway: Clara would try to make him reason, but he was stubborn and proud and would never listen to her advice -or to the advice of anyone else- or admit he was wrong in any way.

He was utterly impossible sometimes.

Nonetheless, Clara fell in love with him all over. He had a lot to give, when you got to know him. She almost immediately fell for his bravery, his self-confident attitude -overconfident, very often- and for his deep blue eyes that were never afraid or embarrassed to stare into hers. He was an old charmer, he was, always gallant with her beyond his usual involuntarily harsh ways… not that he actually did anything gentle or cute especially for her like the young Doctor used to do, but she liked the way he cared for her… he protected her, he always tried to keep her safe -even though it became annoying sometimes, when he just worried too much- and Clara liked feeling safe. He even took his companion's side when the ship 'bullied' her -Clara's words- often arguing with his box, not caring about the random landings and nasty tricks the Old Girl would provide as a revenge. He didn't do feelings -as he kept saying- but with her he did his best to try, in a clumsy way that was simply adorable in her eyes.

She could swear that she had tried to re-establish the flirty attitude she had used with his younger self, but he simply didn't let her do anything of that kind. There was no being bossy or sassy with him, because he only needed a look straight into her eyes to melt every hint of self-confidence or sassiness Clara might have possessed. And he never let her know what he felt. She used to get a glimpse of his feelings for her when he was the brown-haired Doctor, but now, now he had those deep blue eyes that managed so easily to hide whatever he felt or thought… as he showed her once more, one day in a far too familiar Victorian London.

"What's wrong, Doctor?" Vastra asked. "Did Strax ask you to play 'grenades' with him again?" It was impossible not to notice the glares the Time Lord was reserving for the Sontaran.

"No, he exists. Stupid talking potato." He had always had this habit, to insult species when he was cross. "We had the misfortune to land in the midst of a Sontaran war weeks ago. I am not in a very Sontaran-friendly mood."

Clara peeked out of the window, the known sight of Paternoster Row only visible in the cones of light projected by the street lamps. After yet another random landing of the TARDIS, which had taken them to 1894 London instead of 3000 b. C. Egypt, the Doctor and his companion had met Vastra, Jenny and Strax investigating a mysterious case. After hearing some of the story, the Doctor had become interested and they had followed the trio to Paternoster Row to have some rest before carrying on their investigation at night.

"So basically this man died... and simply walked out of his tomb the morning after?" the Doctor asked.

"Not exactly," Vastra answered. "He was executed on Wednesday, but the following evening he was seen in some dark alley in Croydon and another woman was found dead a few hours later."

In the last weeks, seven women had been brutally killed after -apparently, despite what the Victorian society wanted to believe- rape, in the London district of Croydon. The man, who went by the name of John Ruperts, had been caught near the area of the last murder and therefore arrested as possible culprit. He had eventually confessed and he had been sentenced to death.

"It could be a coincidence. How are we so sure it was really him who has been seen?" the Doctor objected.

"It could be. And we aren't. But I don't believe in coincidences," Vastra said.

"Neither do I. That's why I shall help you in your investigation tonight."

"Very well, your help is appreciated, Doctor. I suggest to leave now; what time is it Jenny?"

"Almost 10 o'clock, madam."

"We'd better go, then," the Doctor stated.

They headed towards the door, Vastra and Jenny first, then Strax and eventually the Doctor and Clara. The Time Lord turned to close the door behind himself, when he noticed his companion.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" he asked her, looking genuinely surprised.

"W-what do you mean?" Clara asked, already sensing where this was going.

"There's a rapist serial killer roaming around, don't you dare think about going out. You stay here."

There. Typical. It had happened before. This Doctor wouldn't let her take any risk. Of course, staying with him was itself a risk, but he tried to spare her any danger that he thought would almost certainly present itself.

"What? I'll be with you, I'm not risking anything! Jenny is younger than me and she's coming anyway!"

"Jenny is a well-trained warrior."

"I'm not harmless!"

"Don't be silly, Clara, you know what I mean. Plus, I'm not responsible for Jenny Flint. I'm responsible for Clara Oswald." He was raising his voice now. He was prone to anger and had be in a bad mood all day long, after arguing with the Old Girl and landing in the wrong place as a consequence. "Don't you understand that I'm just trying to protect you?"

The Doctor had needed months to admit with himself what he would never admit with her: he wasn't able to protect her. The Daleks, the Sontarans, then Ancient Rome, Mars, future New York. Again and again. Something separated them, and every time she ended up risking her life. And every time his hearts skipped several beats and his breath stopped and he got a foretaste of what he would feel if he really were to lose her. Every time he had arrived just in time, but he wasn't good at timing: what if one day he arrived too late? He wasn't going to let that happen.

"I'm not a child," Clara retorted sharply.

"Of course you aren't, but you are my companion and you're under my protection. I won't let you risk your life. I'm not changing my mind, you won't come with us."

Of course, he was too selfish to just leave her home and never come back the next Wednesday. He couldn't stay without her, even though he would never admit it. So he did his best to keep her away from danger.

He pushed her lightly, back inside, and grabbed Strax by the back of the collar of his shirt, pulling him in the house with Clara.

"You'll look after her, you won't do anything incredibly stupid and you won't let her follow us, got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Strax answered promptly.

"Good dwarf."

"Doctor!" Clara yelled, trying to stop him before he closed the door, but he ignored her and closed the lock by sonicking it.

She got a glimpse of his eyes before he disappeared behind the door. They were of his usual, perfect light blue-grey and, as always, they didn't betray any emotion.

The Doctor turned to find Vastra and Jenny staring at him.

"What?" he asked roughly.

"If you allow me, Doctor," Jenny said, "Clara will hate you if you keep cutting her out."

"I prefer her alive but cross than happy but dead, if you allow me! Now let's go, I'm sick of hearing what everybody thinks about my behaviour."

~oOo~

Clara behaved. She always behaved. Listened to the Doctor. She was born to save him, so she was born to be a good companion: 'don't wander off'. But now he was pushing her too far. He was leaving her behind. She couldn't accept it, and went mad with concern knowing that he was alone. She wanted to be with him, look after him… and she was in love with him and so wanted him safe. She wanted to make sure he was safe. Normally she wouldn't do this, no. She wouldn't come up with a plan to fool Strax. But now…the Doctor had changed, and she was changing too.

"Are you in need of something, boy?"

Clara ignored Strax confusing genders once again, and instead pretended to be worried.

"Strax! I was upstairs when I heard some guys talk in the street below… I opened the window and listened to their conversation… they were planning to steal your personal stock of grenades! You should go to check on them…"

"Revolting human scum! My grenades!"

With that he stormed off, heading to some room in the house where he kept the guns, and Clara rapidly took the key hanging on the doorknob and opened the door. She bit her lower lip nervously. She knew Victorian London, perfectly, and could assume where the Doctor had gone: either Croydon or the prison cemetery, to check the tomb of the murderer. How he would react with her for disobeying or with Strax for being a retarded potato dwarf was a mystery, and was what somewhat scared her.

Collecting all of her courage, she took a deep breath and stepped in the street.


	7. Chapter 7

"So what should we expect?" the Doctor asked, "How should the corpse look like?"

"A man in his thirties," Vastra answered as she pushed open the iron gate of the cemetery that Jenny had forced. "Blond hair, not too long. With a muscular frame and average height."

The Doctor picked up a shovel when he saw one near a grave, as Vastra lead them to the murderer's tomb.

It was a mass grave. Both the Doctor and Vastra covered their faces with handkerchiefs, the smell of death impregnated the air and they were much more sensitive than a human, whereas Jenny had grown up in one of the most miserable areas of London and was somewhat used to the least pleasurable smells.

"Well, the sooner, the better," the Doctor stated, handing Vastra the shovel.

"You're not expecting me to dig, are you?" the Silurian protested.

"Your pleasure, then, Jenny."

The human made a face and reluctantly grabbed the tool, gazing at Vastra hoping for some help.

"Sorry, my dear Jenny. This is why we usually have Strax with us."

It appeared clear to the human that, without the Sontaran, she was the lowest in the 'social scale': Gallifreyan, Silurian, human, potato dwarf. It seemed perfectly understandable. She was obedient and used to pretty much every 'dirty work', so she started to dig, but she inwardly cursed Time Lords, Silurians, their silly pride and their ideas about superior and inferior species.

Many minutes and a long excavation later, the Doctor lowered himself and looked more closely at the ground beneath.

"It's clearly been made some room for another body…which is missing," he noted.

"And none of these men has blond hair," Jenny pointed out. The bodies were dirty, and not in the best conditions, but it was evident that they all had very dark hair.

"What do you make of that, Doctor?" Vastra asked.

"Our man has been buried, but it appears that he… escaped."

"You mean he came back to life?" Jenny questioned, stunned.

"Oh, don't be silly."

"But how could he survive hanging?"

"In many ways. It's not such a precise method to kill someone, you know. A badly-knotted rope, the wrong position of the neck, and you'll be perfectly fine. You've certainly noticed before that not every single hanging is successful. That's why a doctor always checks if the person is effectively dead…" -he paused, as if realizing something, then continued with a lower voice: "…by assuring that he's not still breathing." He smirked contently.

"What, do you have the solution, Doctor?" Vastra asked.

"Of course I do," he said proudly. "We aren't looking for a human. We are dealing with an alien capable of holding his breath for a long time, so he's been able to hide in the tomb for several hours without suffocating."

"Is that even possible?" Jenny asked.

"Oh, yes, it's quite common in fact. Ilorians, Kradators and many others, even Time Lords have this ability. In my case, it's called respiratory bypass system. The alien we are looking for probably hid his real appearance in some way, maybe a strong perception filter… humans are easily fooled by perception filters. I'll have to return to the TARDIS and run a scansion for alien technology."

"I suggest we pass through Croydon, hoping to meet this creature," Vastra proposed.

"Yes, good point. We'll do exactly that."

~oOo~

When Clara found the gate of the cemetery open, she knew that she was succeeding in her intent to find the Doctor. At least it was very probable that he had been there.

All her remaining doubts faded as she saw three familiar figures step towards her in the dark. She would always recognise the Doctor, at night-time or in the daylight, no matter the face. His blue eyes were bright in the darkness, but Clara saw them darken as he met her gaze.

The Doctor had an extraordinary brain, but not even he could count the emotions that he experienced in the millisecond after he saw his companion walk towards him. There was happiness, as she always melted his heart when he saw her; he was worried that something could have happened to her and then relieved as he verified that she was fine; he marvelled that she had easily tricked Strax and then realized that there was nothing surprising; there was admiration for her, her bravery and cleverness. These and many other emotions were in his hearts, but the one that overcame all the others was anger, because she had disobeyed him and took unnecessary risks.

He swallowed, mouth dry, trying to keep calm. His hands were closed in fists, nails digging in his flesh.

"Why?" he asked simply, when Clara arrived close to him.

"Because I'm not letting you do everything on your own."

"I'm not a kid. I don't need anyone."

His sharp words hurt Clara, more than she would admit, but she wouldn't give up now. She had disobeyed him and taken a decision. Now there was no going back.

"I'm not a kid either. I don't care if you won't admit it, but you need someone. I'm not going to just sit here doing nothing when you go around risking your life. If you want me to be your companion, you will have to keep me always, both in the happy moments and in the dangerous ones. If you don't agree, then…" -she had to search very deep inside her for the bravery to pronounce the last words- "…then just take me home and leave and don't come back."

Clara shuddered. Had she really said that? With him, she never knew…would he take her home? She had just taken a dangerous step.

He stared at her, eyes wide. His gaze met hers again, and he could see determination but also fear. Clara couldn't read those blue-grey pools, as always. He seemed shocked and worried, but she couldn't tell.

"Can you promise me something, Clara?" he asked suddenly.

He, talking about promises. The one who lied so often.

"What?"

The Doctor stepped closer to her and took her hand in his.

"I have no desire to leave you, but I want you safe, Clara. Do you understand?" -he didn't let her answer- "Don't you dare leave my hand ever again, don't you dare leave my side and we can keep travelling together."

Clara didn't really understand. It seemed exactly what she had asked. She smiled.

"Okay, I promise."

"I'm serious, Clara."

He was selfish. He simply wanted to be reassured, so he could have a good excuse to always keep her close, so he wouldn't feel forced to leave her behind. He was trying to persuade himself that if they were careful, if she stayed with him and they weren't separated, everything would be fine.

"Okay," she said, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, and didn't loosen the grip when he gave a nod to Vastra and the four of them started to walk, out of the graveyard and heading to Croydon.

~oOo~

"Look! It's him!" Vastra recognised the criminal immediately as she saw him in the dark alley. There he stood, looking down at a body that was lying on the street.

The Silurian had spoken in a low voice, but the alien apparently had a very good hearing, because he turned suddenly, facing them. The darkness hid the features of his face, apart from the hair, fair under the moonlight. As he realized that he was being chased, he started to run.

The Doctor, Clara, Vastra and Jenny ran after him, briefly stopping to check the body on the street: a man in his early forties, with blond but slightly greying hair, an old scar on his face. They had arrived too late, because he was already dead. Strangled.

The four ran after the murderer, but he was surprisingly fast and thanks to his head start hey couldn't reach him, despite their efforts. Suddenly, he entered a warehouse and locked the door behind him.

While the Doctor searched for his screwdriver, the four of them heard a strange noise from the inside, and when finally the Time Lord opened the door… nothing. The man they were chasing had vanished. There was no sign of him. They checked for other doors, but there weren't any. He seemed to have dissolved into thin air.

The Doctor frowned. He had only got a glimpse of his face, but he would swear he had already met that man. He was completely sure, but something didn't allow him to remember. The alien was undoubtedly using a very strong perception filter. No matter how much the Gallifreyan concentrated, he couldn't clearly recall that face in his mind.

Deciding to leave that problem for later, he scanned the room with his sonic, focusing on how the alien had escaped. The results make his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise impossibly, and Clara immediately noticed it.

"What's the problem Doctor?"

"I know how our _friend_ escaped. He travelled in time."

"_What_?" Vastra, Jenny and Clara asked, simultaneously.

"Time travel leaves traces. And the sonic found them."

His mind wasn't focused. He kept having the feeling that he was missing something… there was a smell in the air… he should recognise it, he knew that he should. But he didn't. He decided that hated perception filters. He had never seen such a strong one, he had to admit. Only a few would be able to create one like it.

"What do we do now, Doctor?" Vastra asked.

"There's nothing we can do. The TARDIS is too far, I won't be able to get there in time to track the other time machine."

"But who possesses that kind of technology?" the Silurian questioned.

"Not many. But anyone could steal it. Clara and I will leave… contact me if anything new happens, but avoid conference calls, I hate them." He didn't like others to decide when he had to sleep.

The Doctor was cross, and worried. He felt something wrong, something approaching. Still far, but it was there: some great change that he didn't quite feel ready to face.


	8. Chapter 8

"Give her back. Set her free now and I could consider sparing your lives," the Doctor commanded, turning on the communication monitor, hands tightly grabbing the edge of the console, his knuckles white. He was trying to hold back the waves of anger that kept shooting though him, but he didn't even know why he was holding back.

"Request denied," the Cyber-Leader on monitor answered. "You will not dare to act against the Cybermen until we keep your companion prisoner."

The Doctor took a deep breath. He would never forgive himself for this. The Cybermen had kidnapped Clara, and he hadn't been able to stop them.

"Why? Why kidnapping her?" he asked weakly. His mood was changing constantly from furious to hopeless. He wanted… he didn't know what he wanted. He felt guilty, because once more he had been too reckless and given things for granted… but this time he had been with Clara and Clara had paid for him.

"We need your… assistance."

"_Assistance_? This isn't assistance. This is called blackmail."

"You can not refuse, or your companion will be killed."

"I've understood that well enough. What do you want?" he asked coldly.

"You will give us your TARDIS-"

"Why didn't you just kill me and took it?" the Doctor interrupted.

"We would need months to gain the knowledge to use your ship… knowledge you can give us, sparing us weeks of researches."

The Doctor frowned. He didn't like where this all was going, so he started to draw a plan in his mind. He still didn't have all the variables, though.

"The Cybermen have never been interested in time travel. Why now?"

If Cybermen had emotion, the Cyber-leader would have smirked, content to know something that the Doctor didn't suspect.

"That is not of your interest. But you must know, Doctor, you are the living proof that emotions, emotions make you so blind. So irremediably blind. The universe is changing, things of a long-forgotten past are coming back, and you still do not realize it."

Those words hit the Doctor deep into his soul, and he didn't know why. They made sense with the strange feeling he had been having since Victorian London, a few weeks before. He couldn't help but wonder if there was some truth in them… but now he had to focus on how to save Clara, not on some silly bluff the Cyber-leader was trying to build.

"Show me Clara. I want to know if she's safe. Then I will consider your _offer_."

The Cyber-leader stepped aside and gestured at two other Cybermen. "Bring here the human," he commanded.

The Doctor felt relieved as, a few minutes later, he heard Clara's voice, loud and strong.

"Let me go! …Doctor!" the girl looked at the image of him in the monitor, trying to stare into his eyes and hoping he would notice it even though their eyes couldn't really meet.

"Clara. You're okay."

The sole sight of her filled his hearts with bravery. He could do anything for her. He quickly regained all his calm and self-control.

"Yes… Doctor… whatever they ask you to do, don't accept. Please, I'm not worth anything they could want from you… and please, _please_ don't risk your life for me as you always do-"

"As if I could leave you like this. Don't be silly, Clara." He turned his attention to the Cyber-leader. "I accept your conditions. I'll be there soon."

"No, _Doctor_! Don't-"

He turned off the monitor and adjusted the controls of the TARDIS, which was orbiting around the Cyber-ship. Then he looked at the monitor again:

"Cybermen. You have just made the biggest mistake of your miserable life. The _last_ mistake of your life."

~oOo~

The Doctor entered the room with his hands placed on the back of his neck, glaring at every single Cyberman around him.

'_You will regret this,' _he thought. But it wasn't true. He wouldn't even leave them time to regret anything.

"Search him," the Cyber-leader commanded.

Two Cybermen palmed every inch of his clothes, looking for anything that could seem hostile to them.

"I have nothing. Not even my screwdriver."

"What is that object in your hand? Show it!" the Cyber-leader demanded.

"This?" the Doctor asked innocently, revealing the small piece of metal in his hand. "It's the TARDIS key. I intended to give it to you."

"Your spontaneous and obedient collaboration is appreciated, Doctor." The Cyber-leader made a pause. "Now, give me that key."

The Doctor's voice instantly became cold and steady. "No. Let me see Clara, first. As soon as she'll be by my side, I'll give you the key." The Cyber-leader didn't answer, as if considering his offer. "I showed you well enough that I don't have any intention to attack the Cybermen, I just want my reward."

"You did the least you could do. However, I do not see a reason why I should not satisfy your request." He gestured at two other Cybermen. "Bring her here."

The Doctor waited patiently, forcing himself to breathe slowly and stay calm. He was mad with anger and wanted to just see this over as soon as possible, to hold Clara securely in his arms and never let her go.

"Doctor!"

He was ready to wrap his arms around her when Clara ran to him. She hugged him tightly, almost desperately.

"Clara," he whispered.

"Idiot," she whispered back, voice broken. "Why, why have you risked so much for me again?"

"Oh, Clara. This time, I haven't risked anything."

Holding her wrist firmly, he pressed the button on the small device he had placed on his TARDIS key. A second later, they were in the console room.

"What have you done?" she asked, stunned.

He grinned. "This key, it's part of the TARDIS. It's a piece of her. This little thing just allowed me to strengthen the process that you could normally use to call the TARDIS using the key… and reverse it so we could be teleported here instantly."

He left Clara's hand to search for another small device on the console: when he pressed its button, the explosion made the walls quake.

~oOo~

"_You shouldn't have done that_!" Clara shouted angrily.

"Why? Give me just one good reason why I shouldn't have blown up that Cyber-ship," he asked as he set the coordinates to take her home.

"Because you didn't even give them a chance!"

"A chance of what? Attacking first?"

"No!" Clara interrupted him, "a chance to escape, to promise-"

The Doctor interrupted her this time. "_Promise_? Promise what? That they would be _good boys_ in the future? Let me tell you one thing, Clara Oswald: I know the Cybermen, they're emotionless and heartless and promises mean nothing to them, they don't know what mercy is."

Clara turned his back at him, her arms crossed. He had a point, she knew that, but these had never been his ways, never, and she still couldn't accept this part of this him.

Clara didn't look at him again, and the Time Lord kept staring at her back. He couldn't see her angry with him, and his voice softened as he spoke again:

"Why do you care so much about them?" he asked, stepping closer and reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She turned abruptly and caught his hand. "_I don't care about them_! I care about _you_!"

He could just stare at her and blink, stunned. Clara continued:

"I can't stand the sight of you being so… so… like this. I just can't." The Doctor noticed that her eyes were bright now. "I can't accept you being so… cold, so rational-"

"_Why? _I can't understand why, Clara! The way I behave, it has nothing to do with you! It's just my choice! Why does it… _hurt_ you, when I do what I do?"

"_You, stupid… idiot_! Because-" tears started to roll down her cheeks. "_Because I love you_, you idiot!"

She slapped him, hard.

He was quite sure that his hearts had stopped. "…Clara…"

"_No_! _Shut up_! I don't want to hear your pitiful words! I know I'm just a silly human girl and I mean _nothing_ to you and you will _never_ love me, I just want you to _stop_ behaving as if you cared about me in that way, because clearly _you don't_!"

With that, she waited for his reaction for a second, then turned to walk towards her room. She had embarrassed herself, she knew that, broke their friendship forever and everything. She knew that, but she couldn't bear it anymore and her feelings had just found a way to come out. She couldn't bear him behaving like that, being so merciless and vengeful, when she knew that he was capable of so much good.

The Doctor was frozen, utterly stunned. The realization of how thick he had been crashed over him with the power of a thousand waterfalls. He had spent months holding back and waiting for a sign that she felt something for him, not realizing that she wasn't showing her feelings because of him. Because she feared that he didn't feel the same.

His cheek hurt. Now he knew how much he had deserved that slap. As she began to walk towards the corridors, he inwardly promised that he would never miss another chance, that he would never hold back again.

He ran after her and roughly grabbed her wrist, forcing her to face him.

"Clara, wait!" He locked his eyes with hers. "I love you too," he breathed.

He abruptly pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers.


	9. Chapter 9

The kiss lasted a few moments, and as they parted Clara could just stare into his eyes. As the Doctor saw that she didn't refuse him, he kissed her again eagerly, closing his eyes, holding her resolutely and pressing his body against hers. He had longed for this, for months now.

Clara didn't kiss him back, at first. She was still shocked and angry with him, even more now that she knew he had loved her for all this time and had done nothing about it. But then she remembered how much she had wanted this to happen, she felt his lips soft against hers and his taste, like lemons and dark chocolate, bittersweet just like he was. She closed her eyes and buried her hands in his hair, letting him steal her breath with a bruising kiss.

"Clara…" he murmured against her mouth, before dropping a series of passionate kisses on her face and neck.

He could kiss her forever. He pressed her firmly against the console and ran his hands on her outer thighs, disappointed that she was wearing stockings, slipping his hands under her skirt as he kissed her ardently. Her touch, her lips, her scent set his every nerve on fire.

"Doctor. Wait." Clara could easily tell where this was going, and she didn't like it.

He froze and pulled back, resting his hands on her hips, looking at her questioningly.

"I'm still angry with you," she stated. "We… we'll take this slow."

He felt frustratingly disappointed, but he should have seen it coming, he guessed.

"Okay," he said, smirking. Then he attempted to kiss her again.

"I said I'm still angry with you!" she protested, pushing him back lightly. With the certainty that the Doctor loved her, she felt part of her boldness coming back to her.

"That means I can't have another kiss?" he asked, trying to wear a pair of puppy eyes as he often did in his younger face. He wasn't any good at it now, and this made Clara giggle.

"No, you can't!" she answered.

He looked at her lovingly, not able to pretend he was angry, not now that he knew that she loved him and he felt so perfectly happy. She was smiling. Her eyes hadn't been so bright in months. She was as happy as he was, he could tell. He caressed her arms and took her hands in his.

"My Clara. My Impossible Girl."

"Doctor," she replied.

She moved her hand to fondly stroke his hair. She liked when he let it grow a bit, like now. She had dreamed to touch him like this, with that different level of intimacy that holds a world of difference between friendship and romance. His curls were soft under her touch. Then she rested her fingertips on his cheek, where his usually cool skin was slightly warm for her slap. He pressed his face against her palm and chastely kissed her hand.

"Are you sure I can't get another kiss?" he asked hopingly with a little half-smirk.

She thought about it for a second, then grinned.

"There's a condition," Clara stated.

"Anything for you, beautiful girl."

An old charmer, he was. But she wasn't going to melt for him now that she had regained some control. Again, she felt that she was finding her past self-confidence.

"Say it again."

"What? …oh." He smiled. "I love you, Clara."

"Close your eyes."

The Doctor obliged, a blissful, stupid grin on his face.

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her nose against his. They shared a breath for the shortest of moments, lips almost touching. Then Clara intentionally pressed a very light, quick kiss on his cheek.

"See you next Wednesday," she whispered, walking past him, inwardly giggling.

"You fooled me!" he exclaimed, indignant.

"Yes!"

She swiftly closed the TARDIS doors behind her. As he ran after her, the last thing he saw was her small figure disappearing behind the door of her house.

"Oh, very funny! Really! I'll remember this one day, you know!" he stated.

He shook his head in resignation. In the end, he loved this side of her, and he had missed it.

"Impossible. Truly impossible, you are."

But the Doctor had always had a thing for impossible.

~oOo~

"Ah! Not today, damned alien scum!" the Doctor exclaimed as he rapidly pulled levers to see if he managed to jump some time tracks. The walls quaked.

He was alone in the TARDIS. He had dropped Clara home after yet another Wednesday and he had gone back to his ship happily smirking to himself, with the taste of her still on his lips and the wonder for how he seemed to fall for her more and more everyday still making his mind foggy. He had started the engines, not really having a particular destination in mind… and then it had happened. A mauve alert and someone chasing him, the adrenaline suddenly rushing in his veins, excitement building. He loved a good challenge. But his excitement had turned into worry as he had realized he just didn't manage to leave the other spaceship behind. He had scanned it to discover who was chasing him… and his eyes had widened. The Family of Blood.

"C'mon Old Girl, I know you can do it!"

A small explosion lighted up the console and the walls started to tremble constantly, with increasing intensity.

"No no no no! What are you trying to do?" the Doctor asked, hurriedly moving around the console, flicking switches. "You can't land now! Do you want me dead?" He paused to try to find an answer. "I met them in the past and they were alive, so I don't die now? What are you talking about, silly old ship? My past, their future. I can die now… and kill them in my past. At least I get revenge, don't I? _No_! Don't! You can't land here!"

The readings on the monitor were clear: Earth, dangerously close to 21st century.

2118… the numbers fluctuating madly.

2079

2050

2023

2014…the numbers were slowing down. 2013. 2012. 2011.

The TARDIS landed with a loud *tud* and her usual noise. A cold chill ran down the Doctor's spine as he read the coordinates:

2011\. Earth. Great Britain. _Leadworth_.

He had to leave as soon as possible. He could meet himself or mess up his whole timeline.

"Doctor!" a long-forgotten voice exclaimed, as the TARDIS doors opened.

Too late.

"Who are you?" the red-haired girl asked, stunned.

"For God's sake, Amelia, leave immediately! No time for questions!" the Doctor answered, desperately trying to start the engines. The Family had lost him, but the instruments stated that they were tracking him again.

"How do you know my name? …oh my God, it's you! You regenerated!" She laughed and pointed at him. "You're _old_ now!" she exclaimed. "Can't believe I snogged you…" she added in a lower voice.

"Oi! Shut up! Amelia, just leave and forget me! And never talk about this! I'm busy now."

"Oooh, I see! You're Mister-Grumpy-Face _permanently_, now! And since when do you call me 'Amelia'?"

"_Amelia Williams_, yo-"

"Seriously?" -she interrupted him- "Williams? I thought you'd never stop calling me 'Pond'. And why do you sound Scottish, by the way?"

"Your bloody fault, obviously!" he roared, still tinkering with the TARDIS controls.

"Are you going to at least look at me in the eyes? C'mon Doctor, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong? _What's wrong? _Just that _I'm risking a paradox_, or worse, I'm chased by deadly aliens who want to _dissection_ me to discover the secret of regeneration, this _stupid_ ship won't work and there's a _silly_ human girl in my TARDIS, _annoying me_ with _pointless_ questions, after all the time I spent trying to forget _you and your family_, Amelia! _This_ is what's wrong with me!" he shouted, having given up the controls, staring into her eyes, very close, noses almost touching, his hearts pounding violently in his chest.

"…what happened to you?" Amy whispered. She was worried, but also scared. He could read that in her eyes.

He turned his back to her.

"I stayed alone," he answered simply, mouth dry, knowing that Amelia would understand. She always did.

She didn't reply.

"Amelia. Leave."

"Y-yes."

She slowly made her way to the doors, glancing back at him at each step. She wanted to help, she didn't want to leave him like this.

As she reached the doors, they closed abruptly and the engines suddenly came back to life. The floor quaked and Amy almost fell on the ground.

"Doctor! What's happening?"

He tried to gain control of the ship, but he failed. "The TARDIS, she's taking us somewhere. She wants us, this me and you, in some place. And I can't understand why!"

"Do something!"

"I can't! She doesn't let me!"

The TARDIS landed with a louder sound than usual, almost a crash, which shook the walls and threw the Doctor and Amy on the floor.

He slowly stood up to read the coordinates: this time, he grinned.

"You can stay calm, Amelia."

"What? The TARDIS forces us to land in some random place and you tell me to _stay calm_?"

"Precisely," he said, still grinning. "I know exactly what to do. More or less. I have a plan in progress."

"You're lying. You never have a plan."

"I've changed, Amelia."

She stared at him for some seconds, as if to study him or to understand if he was speaking the truth, then asked:

"Where are we?"

"Ah, that's the point! Pompeii, six months before 'Volcano day'."

"And why should be this okay?"

He turned his back at her and turned towards the corridors, giving for granted that she would follow him. Amy sighed in resignation and reached him, and he started to talk as they walked.

"Some time before I met you, in another face, I was here with a friend and we met someone who _looked exactly like this me_. I hadn't realized at first, as I regenerated, but now I know _it was me_. And do you know how I know? Because now that I think about it, I think I also remember a member of a certain Sisterhood who looked exactly like you. I only got a glimpse when I was in the temple, but I think you had been ordered to watch after me."

They had reached the TARDIS wardrobe. Amy frowned.

"No. Wait. I'm not following you at all."

"It was me, a human me. I turned myself into human. To run from the Family. I 've done this before, it's just logic."

The Doctor started to roam through the many clothes, looking for something.

"Turned yourse-" she paused. "Can you really do that? And what's this family you're talking about?"

"Chameleon Arch, yes. A Time Lord trick." He picked a white toga of his size and nodded. "The family of Blood, aliens, want the secret of regeneration. Chasing me." He grabbed a red robe. "They can smell a Time Lord, so to fool them I need to _not be_ a Time Lord. Oh, this will do" he stated, as he pulled out a long toga of her size.

"You're kidding!"

"Amelia, don't whine. We are in Pompeii, what do you think you should wear?"

Amelia made a face. He put another red robe in her hands.

"What are we going to do? We can't simply walk in there and substitute ourselves to those people, can we?"

He headed back towards the console room after picking some sandals.

"Yeah, I don't think I just kidnap Caecilius and that girl and put them in a cupboard. No, first we have to discover what happened to them. I assume they left for a journey or… or died a few days ago. A good perception filter will hide their… sudden return." He stood pensive for a second. "I think Caecilius moved to Rome after Pompeii was destroyed… a little change to Emergency Program One and the TARDIS will materialize there…she'll find the right place by herself, no doubt. I'll turn myself human and the Old Girl will provide me a temporary memory to use. And you… I'll need to erase yours."

"_What?_ Erase my memory? Why?"

"Just temporarily!" he exclaimed. "I will return it back to normal when we're done. I need you to act as a Roman, Amelia. I'll give you a temporary memory with what you need to know and a fake past. I can't allow you to make mistakes and break our cover. There are things going on in Pompeii now, I don't have time to explain but _we can't be discovered_."

"Wait, let me get this straight, if you are human and have a fake memory, how are you supposed to return Time Lord?"

They had gotten to the console room. He picked up the phone and started to dial the number.

"We'll need some help from a… friend." He paused. He waited for the *beep* and started to talk:

"Uh, Clara, it's me. I'm doing a thing, and you won't like it."


	10. Chapter 10

"Uh, Clara, it's me. I'm… doing a thing, and you won't like it."

The Doctor's voice in the answerphone sent chills down Clara's spine. He was doing something reckless and dangerous again. And the worst was that _he knew_ it was dangerous. She knew he was a grown-up and could perfectly look after himself, but he always risked too much for her liking. Just to feel the excitement, for the pleasure of taking the risk. And in the few weeks they had been together, after that first kiss, they had grown closer and she had started to worry even more.

"I'm using the answerphone so you won't interrupt me complaining about how reckless and hazarded you think this is."

That man, he always planned everything.

"I'll make it short. Deadly aliens chase me. I must hide. I'll disguise myself as a human using a Chameleon Arch. I won't know who I really am and I won't remember anything about my life."

Chameleon Arch. Clara remembered something from her Time Lady echo. She remembered that the process was extremely painful and that many things could go wrong. She knew that a human girl like her wouldn't be of any real help for him in that situation, but she simply would feel surer, safer, if she were by his side. She always had the conviction that she could still protect him somehow.

"Listen carefully: you will have to come back in time by yourself, find me and make me Time Lord again. Now, don't panic" -Clara was doing exactly that- "you'll just have to go to the Tower and ask Kate Lethbridge-Stewart to lend you the Vortex manipulator. I'm going to give you the code and the coordinates. Write them down and don't lose the note."

He waited enough time for Clara to find a piece of paper and slowly dictated her the numbers, twice, to be sure.

"I will be in Rome. Once you arrive, you must search for the house of Lucius Caecilius. The TARDIS should be nearby. Not sure where. I'm sure you'll find her someway. On the console, you'll find a fob watch. An old one, silver, with Gallifreyan inscriptions. You'll have to come in the house and give me the watch. Make me open it and I'll be myself again. Don't worry for me, I'll be fine. See you." He made a long pause. "I love you."

"I love you too," Clara answered, forgetting he couldn't hear her.

That was serious. He did say the words sometimes, but always to answer to her saying first. She understood that, for him, it felt like a defeat, like being inferior, to admit he had such deep feelings and he cared so much for her. That he needed her. It was like admitting one, big weakness. He was too proud to admit those things, except when he made it sound like a gift he made to her, to reassure her that she wasn't the only one who was in love. The fact he was saying it like this only scared Clara further: it was like admitting that he might never see her again.

~oOo~

"Come on, Amelia, off we go." The Doctor said, stepping out of the TARDIS, roughly pulling down the cap of Amy's robe. She adjusted it, slightly annoyed by his gesture.

"Stop that, I can't see!"

"Don't whine. We can't let anyone recognise us."

"Will we be safe from those aliens here?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Maybe. The scans say that they've lost us for a while. Even if they find us again, I'll spend entire months as a human and we'll move to Rome later. They'll give up eventually."

They walked in the crowded streets of ancient Pompeii until they started to find some bazars, filled with every kind of objects. From fruit to vases, to togas and sandals, fine wines from the north and exotic perfumes from the Far East. Wares from every corner of the vast and powerful Roman Empire were collected there, in Pompeii, one of the richest and most magnificent cities of the world back in those days.

"Do you know, by any chance," the Doctor asked to a merchant, "a certain Lobus Caecilius?"

"Ah, yes, that poor fellow," the man replied, shaking his head lightly. "The one who died in that _accident_, last week, yes. Defending that poor girl from robbery. Got stabbed. What a sad business. She was still a young woman; she died for the wounds the day after, you know? Poor guy, he had no fighting skills whatsoever, wasted his life for nothing. Poor people." He paused. "Why are you looking for him, anyway?"

~oOo~

"I don't risk to end up, say, at the South Pole, do I?" Clara asked, regulating the Vortex manipulator on her arm.

"No, if the Doctor gave you the right codes and coordinates, you'll very likely be fine." Kate Stewart answered.

"_Very likely_?"

The bizarre backgrounds of the Black Archive surrounded the two women. A Silurian weapon here, the piece of a Sontaran spaceship there, all in the hands of the most influential, top-secret organization in the world. And everything had started with a bunch of soldiers and scientists, and the help of a certain unwillingly-stranded Doctor.

"Well, you never know. It was always slightly defective."

Clara sighed, and reluctantly pushed the last button.

~oOo~

"That's… you."

"Not quite, Amelia." The Doctor and Amy stood in front of the tomb of Caecilius, where a small statue of him had been placed. The statue represented Caecilius, only head and shoulders, in typical Roman clothing. "I'll have to cut my hair much shorter. And honestly, my eyes are nothing like that. Just a very good resemblance… or a terrible sculptor."

They moved to the zone where members of the Sisterhood where buried. Soon they found a tombstone where a few short lines in Latin were carved, together with a representation of a young woman, who according to Amy looked nothing like her.

"Now that we know that they are… that they're dead, what do we do?" the girl asked.

"Back to the TARDIS. I'll cut my hair, set a perception filter and we'll dress with something more suitable than a simple toga. Then I'll erase your memory and use the Chameleon Arch. And trust Clara to come back for us."

"Can we trust her?" Amy asked after a brief pause.

"Oh, she saved me more times than anyone else."

~oOo~

Finding the TARDIS on a rooftop had been a surprise. Well, actually, knowing the special sense of humour the Old Girl possessed and the ship's affection for her, Clara should have seen it coming.

Having to look for a ladder in the middle of Ancient Rome, dressed in modern clothes, with a very visible Vortex manipulator on her arm had been a ridiculously hard business.

No wonder that Clara was more than just 'cross' as she practically shoved the old watch in the hands of a utterly stunned human Doctor and forcefully had him open it, firmly grabbing his hands.

"Oh. Hi, Clara" he smirked lightly, not really knowing what was coming next.

~oOo~

"Here we are. Leadworth, 2011. Safe and sound, Amelia. Off you pop," the Doctor stated, still in his Roman clothes, landing the TARDIS with her usual noise.

"But-"

"No buts," he replied, "go, I won't risk Rory seeing me too."

"Rory's at work. Can't you-"

"Then go wait for him," he said, interrupting her. "I- "

She interrupted him this time:

"Can we at least talk alone for a while?"

"Oh, come on Amelia. It's not this me you care about. I'm not him."

"My daughter is part Time Lord, I think I know a thing or two about regeneration! I knew Melody before and after her regeneration, and she was still her, still my daughter. And you're still you. Still my best friend."

The Doctor glanced nervously at Clara, silently asking if she was okay with that. He wanted to stay with her, knowing she had been too worried for him as always and he knew she would probably be angry. He didn't know, he wasn't good at feelings. But he also had something he owed to Amy.

Clara nodded slowly. She knew he needed that.

~oOo~

As Amy and the Doctor sat on the stairs, on her doorstep, she asked:

"Are you safe now?"

"Nah, that would be boring. Safety is for losers," he said, smirking.

She shook her head, smirking back. "Reckless." She paused. "You're not alone now, are you? You become even thicker when you're alone. You and… that girl, Clara, you're together?"

The sole idea made him smile. He wasn't used to it yet. "Yes. Yes, we're together."

"What about River?" she asked bitterly.

His smile faded and he sighed. "Amelia, you and Rory, and River, you were one thousand years ago. I moved on."

"So you meant it when you said you wanted to forget us."

"You do know how I was in that life. I didn't want to suffer anymore. When something bad happened, I tried to not think about it and just go straight on and never looked back."

"And what happened to us?" she whispered.

He looked straight into her eyes. "I lost you. And I couldn't move on, because you were too important for me. I couldn't forget you, even if I wanted to try. And maybe I didn't. I had… a rough period. And that was when I first stayed alone."

A moment of silence followed, until Amy suddenly asked:

"Why did you say it was my fault, you sounding Scottish?"

"Ah. Because it's true. He, the young me, always forgot. For all his life, he forgot and moved on. But then, at the end of his life, he changed his mind. He felt, for the first time, how precious his memories were. And the last thing he thought about as he regenerated was that he didn't want to forget you ever again. So he involuntarily forced me to remember, every second I speak. Remember you, and his life with you." His lips curved in a little half-smirk. "And you know I can't shut up. It was an infallible method."

"Will I ever see this you again?"

"No, better not. I could rewrite my life and, honestly, there are things I would never, ever rewrite." He glanced at the TARDIS, where he knew that Clara was waiting. "But before I go, there's something I want to tell you."

"And what's that?"

He got up and gently helped her on her feet too. He held both her hands for some seconds and locked his eyes with hers. He caressed her cheek, as he had imagined doing before regenerating. It felt different now, with different hands. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead lightly.

"Goodbye, Pond," he whispered.

The only thing his younger self had never been able to do. Put an end. Close a door. Say goodbye. But Amy deserved it, and the Doctor was happy to give her that now, even though he was so terribly late from his perspective and a little bit too early from hers.

Amy looked at him, a bit startled. "G-goodbye, Doctor."

~oOo~

Clara's slap took the Doctor off-guard. As always. He could never tell when she was angry until she decided to show it. She was very good at hiding that kind of feelings.

"That's for leaving me out of this stupid business! The Old Girl told me, you were chased by the Family. And you didn't say because you suspected I knew who they were."

One of her echoes had been there when the Family had chased his tenth self as he was human. Had died for him. She knew what they were capable of.

The Doctor sighed. He was about to explain, when Clara grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him close.

"This is for being still alive," she stated, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him softly.

He almost immediately deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her.

"I should risk my life more often," he said as they parted, "if I can get _snogged_ like this every time," he teased, smirking.

"Silly." Clara answered, but she was smiling. "I missed you," she said, hugging him with her eyes closed and her head buried in his chest. She felt so safe in his arms.

She missed him. She did say that often. Since they were together, she had asked him to show up more often, not only on Wednesday but also on Sunday.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, looking at him in the eyes.

"Of course not, Clara. It's been only one day for me."

"What? You've been away for months!"

"That was the human me. He's not really me. For me, I left you just a few hours ago."

A short time, considering he often spent one or two week alone between one visit and another, not willing to burn up his time with Clara all at once.

Clara observed him for a while. Always so independent. She did miss him even in a few hours. But in the end what were a few hours for a 2000-year-old?

"Come on," she said eventually, "let's get you changed, yes? Roman doesn't suit you."

"Hmm, I suppose it doesn't," he admitted, as he started to walk towards the wardrobe.

A minute later, they were in the vast room full of clothes from every time and every planet. Clara easily spotted the Doctor's present clothes hanging neatly in a corner. Beside them, there were a far too long multi-coloured scarf and, very visible, a red fez. The Doctor calmly walked past it and started to pick up his clothes.

"Doctor." Clara started, astonished. "Have you…did you just…"

"What, dear?"

"Don't you… notice something? Near… your clothes?"

"There's my old scarf and a fez, Clara. What's wrong with them?" he blinked several times, completely oblivious to the problem.

Voices rang in Clara's head. Hers and the Doctor's, many months before.

"_Someday, you could just walk past a fez."_

"_Never gonna happen."_


	11. Chapter 11

"Look at this! It's magnificent!" the Doctor exclaimed, opening the TARDIS doors.

It was night on the planet. A beautiful, starry night. The atmosphere was hot and humid, drops of dew visible everywhere in the dark green grass. The forest where they had landed was silent except for the sound of wind flowing through the large, golden-brown leaves and the singing of some night birds. A million little lights floated lazily in the air, pulsing rhythmically, and the Doctor recognised them as the native equivalent for fireflies. They made the whole place glow slightly and made it possible to see in the dark, drawing entrancing ever-changing games of light on a lake nearby, its calm surface only moved by the soft, warm breeze.

"It's beautiful, Doctor," Clara said, amazed.

He closed the distance between them and gently lifted her chin with his thumb.

"Care for a walk by the lake, Miss Oswald?"

The Doctor could smell the oncoming rain in the air, but he would say they still had time. For once the Old Girl had randomly took him to a safe, peaceful place. He was totally going to take advantage of it. Clara nodded enthusiastically and smiled, causing him to grin in return. He took her hand his, enjoying the way they fit perfectly, revelling in the feeling of warm human skin against his cool one.

After a while walking, the Doctor laid his jacket on the grass and let Clara sit down on the fabric. She gasped as he sat behind her instead of beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back, inviting her to rest against his chest. Clara turned her head to meet his gaze: he was calm and silent, and that wasn't unusual, but he had been distracted and unfocused since the business with the Family. And now… she was sure she had seen a shadow in his eyes when he had pulled off his jacket. Clearly, he was lost in some deep concern and didn't want her to figure out and ask, but Clara was having none of it.

"What are we doing, Doctor?"

"Wasting time. You should always waste time when you don't have any."

Her eyes widened in shock. "Why would you say we don't have any?"

He shrugged. "You never asked me why I never started to look for Gallifrey."

"You're changing topic!" she exclaimed.

"No, I'm not."

"Oh, _fine_! Why then?"

"It would be madness. Do you have a vague idea of what the immensity of the universe is? Whenever you point at the night sky with your fingertip, you point at one hundred thousand stars. And… I didn't search for it because I knew the Old Girl would know when the time would come for me to face what might come with it." He had been told once that the TARDIS would always take him where he needed to go.

"And you think the time has come now?"

"There is a stone right behind my back, in which words are carved that tell me so. No," he ordered as she moved to see it herself, "don't. It's written in Gallifreyan anyway."

Clara sighed heavily, realizing he wasn't willing to share the message. "And you believe that the TARDIS brought us here…because of that?"

"I don't _believe_ anything. I _know_ she did."

"Okay, then what do we do?"

"Nothing."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know!" he snapped. "I don't know what to do, but it's too late to make up my mind now, it's too late and I will be rushed in the middle of the events without a choice. Again. And I-"

"And you're scared."

"No. I'm not scared." But he was. He would never admit it but his hearts were pounding wildly in his chest. He was terrified of the only thing that could scare him in this life and of the only thing that had ever really scared him ever since he was young: losing Clara and being stranded in one place. How foolish he had been to think that landing on this planet was a coincidence.

"It's okay to be scared," Clara stated gently.

"I said, _I am not scared,_" the Doctor retorted. Clara sighed and waited for him to go on, hoping he would open up and reveal why he had been so pensive in the last days. After a minute, he murmured:

"There are things I missed," he began. It cost him to admit that he had made a mistake, that he hadn't paid enough attention. "That time-travelling alien in Victorian London. The Cybermen suddenly being interested in time travel. The Family finding me, not just this time but also all those years ago. As if someone told them how to retrace me. The TARDIS isn't so easy to track down… it's science way beyond their knowledge."

"Okay, I'm not following you."

"The universe is changing, things of a long-forgotten past are coming back, and you still do not realize it."

"Sorry, what?"

"The Cyber Leader, back when you were kidnapped. He told me so. He said I had been blind. And I didn't listen. Why didn't I listen?" he wondered, raising his voice and getting up, Clara almost falling backwards due to the sudden lack of him behind her. "Why didn't I listen?" he repeated, starting to realize something, starting to put things together. "They were all signs…" he whispered.

"Doctor?" Clara called, getting up to find him staring at a stone behind them, exactly as he had said. She recognised the smooth circles of his native language and somehow, slowly, almost without her realizing, she was reading them aloud:

_Time is running short_

_What is lost, is lost_

_But is it really?_

_He's been looking for the Doctor_

_No more holding his ol' rhythm_

_Help will be asked_

_But will it be given?_

_Friendship over justice _

_Duty over love_

_What will you choose_

_When time is running short?_

When she met the Doctor's gaze, he was looking at her in a mixture of stunned and annoyed. He didn't want her to know what was written there…

"I should have known that you could read Gallifreyan, thanks to your echoes' memories."

"I-I didn't know." She paused. "What does that mean?"

"Gallifrey is returning…soon."

"But…how?"

"I don't know. Prophecies, not my area." He had had a certain hate for them since the one about his song ending, back when he had brown unruly hair and a brown coat.

"Who wrote this?"

"It's carved, so I can't really tell, but it looks like my handwriting."

"Why would do that, write to yourself?"

"As a warning. To be prepared."

He turned to face Clara, hearts pounding again. _Duty over love. What will you choose?_ Those lines terrified him. If they meant he had to choose between Clara's life and the common good… he was afraid that he knew the answer and he didn't want to think about it. He felt his ribcage tighten, almost stopping his hearts and suffocating him. He didn't want to make that choice.

A drop falling from the sky on his left shoulder shook him from those thoughts. Another drop followed, then two more and other five, ten, twenty. In the space of thirty seconds they were under pouring, insisting, ice-cold rain. Clara let out a small scream of surprise and quickly grabbed his jacket, trying to cover herself. Soon they were running towards the TARDIS, laughing like young students, forgetting their problems in the rush of the moment, rain falling abundant, a proper sea of it falling from the sky.

He opened the door with a snap of his fingers, while they were still running, and they both stumbled straight through it at absurd speed, his hand still holding hers tightly. Neither of them did know how, but they had been running so fast that they hadn't been able to stop: Clara found herself hitting the console and the Doctor's body hit hers seconds after. His jacket fell on the floor. Clara cried out as his weight crushed her. He was heavy for someone so skinny.

"Clara, are you okay? I didn't mean to-" he started. But the following words got caught in his throat, which went suddenly dry as he looked at her and got a glimpse of her figure. Just a glimpse, then he hurriedly turned his back. He felt shocks of pure electricity run down his spine. He swallowed with difficulty, twice. He had seen her for less than a second, but it had been enough for him to memorize every detail of her perfect body. Her hair damp and plastered on her skin, framing her face. A drop of water running down her cheek to her red, full lips. Her thin white shirt, completely soaked, that left nothing to imagination. Gods, he thought he could just regenerate on the spot. He had goose bumps, he was breathing far faster than usual and his hearts were pounding wildly in his chest. The effect she had on him, she had no idea.

He tried to clear his throat. "I- Clara." He didn't know what he had wanted to say. He could hardly think straight. Perhaps he had wanted to voice his desires, but his brain was a blur of raw emotions and sensations at the moment, which he was trying to keep at bay, failing miserably. Added to the physical need -that had always been there in the last months- was the emotional, psychological necessity of feeling her close in this moment, this night when he was so afraid of losing her. He took a deep breath trying to calm down.

Clara was noticing just now that she had never seen the Doctor with so few layers on -not in this body, anyway. His shirt was just slightly thicker than hers and it had become completely see-though all the same. He was as wet as she was, Clara could count the drops that ran slowly down his hair and along the back of his neck, she could see him shiver as each drop disappeared under the collar of his shirt. He had well-drawn muscles under the skinny frame and his shoulders were tensed as his hands closed in tight fists. He was trembling, and Clara realized it wasn't just for the icy rain. Did she have that effect on him?

"Doctor…" she started, speaking softly, the need to at the same time touch him and comfort him suddenly crashing over her. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and a part of her just wanted to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. Another part of her was very aware of their damp clothes, of his sharp breaths and of the muscles of his back slowly pulsing with tension. She had wanted to wait because she knew it was a point without going back, but she was now realizing that there had never been a possible going back. Not for them, not like this, not when she had ripped herself apart for him and he had risked his life for her over and over.

Clara took a small, shy step towards the Doctor. She ran her hands down his shoulders and arms, planting a soft kiss on his neck. "_Doctor_" she repeated, with a tone that didn't leave space for misunderstandings.

Clara felt the Doctor tremble again under her touch and, in the space of a blink, he attacked her lips fiercely, catching her wrists, pressing his body against hers. He didn't need further encouragement. He simply drank all the air she had in her lungs before moving his attention to her neck, leaving her gasping and moaning and calling his name breathlessly.

"Doctor…"

He bit down not so gently on her neck, sucking the same spot shortly after, hard enough to leave a possessive red mark. She grabbed his short hair, guiding his head. He resumed kissing her passionately as his hands slipped under her shirt, feeling her skin hot beneath the coldness of the rain. He shuddered violently as she hurriedly tugged his shirt out of his trousers.

"_I need you,_" he growled huskily against her skin.

"I know," she replied in the few moments he left her between one kiss and another.

Clara instinctively wrapped her arms tight around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him close as he lifted her.

"_My_ Clara," he said as he pressed quick, wet kisses on her mouth.

She stopped him to look into his eyes. She liked the idea of being his, but…

"_My _Doctor?" she asked. She didn't doubt about the love he felt for her, but he just seemed so rebellious and independent sometimes.

He nodded instantly. "Yours."

The Doctor had had plenty of time to plan this moment in detail. He had drawn every second of it in his mind over and over. He had wished to make it slow, to make it perfect. It soon appeared obvious that it would be rushed and desperate instead, considering the way he needed her in every sense possible.

His kisses were heated and urgent, her touches needy and demanding. Neither of them knew how they made it to his bedroom with most of their clothes still on. Said clothes disappeared rapidly and after that, the Doctor could only remember her scent as he breathed against her neck, the taste of her skin as rain mixed with sweat, the sound of her voice calling his name and the grasp of her hand in his hair. Afterwards, Clara would say it was over too soon, that he had needed it fast, rough and_ now_ and that it had left them both exhausted, panting against each other's skin. But she would also say it was what they both craved for, brain in overload, a crash of sensations, mind utterly lost in the feeling of the other, every trouble forgotten at least for that moment, and the moment after, when they were both too tired to care about anything but each other. They both cherished the smiles, the gazes, the joy of being together.

"That… was…" Clara tried to catch her breath, staring at the ceiling as the Doctor laid next to her doing the exact same thing.

"I know," he whispered.

"Cheeky," was the best comment that came to her, brain completely dissolved in a puddle of contentment.

He didn't answer, and Clara snuggled close to him, resting her head on his chest. His hearts were still beating faster than usual, as was hers.

"I love you." She said, caressing his arms as he wrapped them around her.

"I love you too" the Doctor replied, happy with just holding her now that he was revelling in the blissful feeling of completion that only Clara could ever be able to gift him with.

After a while, her eyelids were heavy and her mind was drifting, but she felt that the Doctor was still awake.

"Are you waiting for me to fall asleep?" she asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She looked at him, a spark of amusement in her eyes. She pulled him a bit closer and kissed his lips.

"Goodnight Doctor."

"Goodnight Clara."

Much to his surprise, she was sleeping an instant later, and he followed within seconds.


	12. Chapter 12

The Doctor woke up to find himself lying on his side, his forehead against Clara's. He smiled at the sight of her, a brown curtain of hair hiding part of her features, a small smile on her lips as she slept. She seemed so serene. And she was beautiful. The Doctor wanted to wake up every single day of his life like this, by her side, watching her sleep. His hearts clenched for a second at the idea that this was highly, highly improbable, but he shook the thought away. He couldn't resist the temptation to push the stray strands behind Clara's ear, caressing her check gently, trailing down to her bare shoulder and playing with the sheets, pulling them down her arms and then lower to admire her perfect body. She shivered in her slumber and he woke her with a kiss on her lips, gentle but insistent, pressing his cool lips against her warm ones until she responded.

"I'm cold," she lamented as they parted, but she was smiling. She couldn't imagine a better way of waking up than seeing his stunning blue eyes, deep dark pools of melting ice as he recalled the events of the night.

"You are beautiful," he stated.

She grinned cheekily in reply.

"Not too short, bossy and with a funny nose, then?"

He looked almost insulted.

"Your nose is perfect as it is. And your small size only makes you prettier."

"You didn't say anything about being bossy," Clara noted, her grin growing wider.

"Maybe because there's no hope to change that."

"Maybe because you love it."

"Oh, really? You sure about that?"

"Yep" she confirmed, moving to kiss his smiling lips.

~oOo~

Clara awoke slowly, feeling the Doctor's arm wrapped around her shoulder and the gentle raising and falling of his chest beneath her head. She lazily opened her eyes to look at him and was surprised to find him still deeply asleep. His handsome features were relaxed, a rare sight especially in the last days, after the prophecy, when he hadn't had a moment of serenity. She decided to let him rest, knowing that he had experienced more frequent nightmares and slept so little these days. She was content that at least now he was sleeping peacefully.

Clara rubbed her eyes sleepily, feeling tired. It was probably still very early in the morning, otherwise the Doctor would have been already awake, and she wondered what had shook her from her dreams. She listened attentively in search of a noise or some other cause. Almost immediately, she heard a soft beat coming from the recesses of the ship. Tu-tu-tu-tud. Tu-tu-tu-tud. A rhythmic sound that seemed to come from the control room. She carefully shifted the Doctor's arm from her shoulder to her pillow and pulled herself up to a sitting position. The noise came again. Someone knocking on the door, maybe?

Slowly, she got off the bed.

~oOo~

Entering the console room, after the noise had grown louder and louder all the way along the corridors, Clara realised it had been someone knocking furiously at the doors from the start, so hard they would have fallen apart had they really been wooden.

_*DU-DU-DU-DUN* _the knocking came again.

"I'm coming, _I'm coming_!" Clara assured, annoyed. "Who the hell do you think you are to bang at the doors like that anyw-" she stopped mid-sentence, utterly shocked and speechless, as she opened the doors and recognised the man in front of her.

"Universally known as the Master! _Oh no you don't_!" the blond-haired man exclaimed when the girl tried to shut the door. "Let me in! I just want to talk!" he affirmed as he pushed against the blue wood, Clara fiercely trying to keep him out by pushing back with all her strength and succeeding poorly.

Flashes of one of her echoes dying because of the Master popped in her mind for a moment "Sure," she panted, "and I'm the Queen!"

"I'm sorry _your majesty_," he mocked, "but I'm not in the mood for games!" with that, he slammed his shoulder against the door and forced it wide open, sending Clara straight on the floor.

Biting her lower lip nervously, aching from the painful fall, she was quick to get to her feet again, but the Master caught her wrist before she could do anything, pulling her close to him.

"Bastard!" she hissed, trying to hit him with her free hand, but he was ready to firmly catch her other wrist as well, leaving her immobilized to stare angrily in his blue eyes.

"Oh-oh, how rude of you. Always the feisty ones, he chooses. Never approved of his companies…" he seemed to notice something and leaned closer to her, to which Clara responded backing off as much as she could. He inhaled her scent and pulled out a disgusted face. "Hell, you smell of him. Always knew he banged-"

"_Let her go at once_," the Doctor commanded, his screwdriver pointed towards his old friend. He had felt the sudden lack of Clara's warmth beside him and had immediately _sensed_ that something was wrong.

"Threatening me with a sonic? Go build a cabinet."

The Doctor shrugged and pointed the sonic at the console. A buzz resonated in the room, and suddenly Clara felt pulled backwards, then upwards, feeling the floor disappearing beneath her feet. Before she could realize that the Master had lost his balance and let her go, the strange sensation was gone and they were both lying on the floor. Their eyes met for a fraction of second, then she rapidly got up and ran towards the Doctor, who was also getting back to his feet.

"What was that?" the girl asked to the Doctor.

"Me messing up with the gravity circuit," he answered distractedly, his eyes already locked with the Master's. He had so many questions. _Why are you here? How? Where's Gallifrey? I thought you were dead. Is Rassilon dead? _He only said a few words instead: "I understand everything now."

The Master laughed. "Do you?"

"Yes. It was you, in Victorian London. The time machine. The exceptional perception filter. And that smell. I should have recognised the smell of another Time Lord at once, but your filter was too strong… _Koschei_, tell me _it wasn't you_ who killed those people. Tell me it wasn't _you_ who _raped_ those women," the Doctor begged, his eyes staring intensely in the Master's, a plea and a request in them.

The Master had committed every possible crime, every wicked thing wasn't unknown to him, and _yes_, there was _so much_ blood on his hands. But the Doctor had never stopped believing that, one day, the man who had been his friend could understand his mistakes and find the right path again. He had never stopped believing that there was always a spark of goodness in him. The Doctor could never believe his friend had fallen just _so_.

"_It wasn't me._"

The Doctor's hearts became suddenly lighter in his chest. He felt that, for once, the Master wasn't lying. Or perhaps _he wanted to believe_ he wasn't. "Then that man you killed just before we found you, the man with the scar, was…"

"Yes, it was John Ruperts. The murderer."

"You killed him," the Doctor pointed out, smiling.

"Don't get ideas. I got hanged and buried in a bloody mass tomb because of him. Call it a personal revenge."

"Why did they arrest you?"

"I just sort of happened to be there. Where he killed a woman. And they didn't exactly care that I swore to be innocent."

"So you made up a confession, let them hang you, and bury you…"

"Yeah," the Master admitted with a disgusted look on his face. "I figured it was better if they thought I was dead instead of having them chasing me all over London."

"Why where you there anyway? How did you escape the Time Lock? Why?" the Doctor questioned, unable to contain the oppressive need for answers.

The Master gave a low chuckle. "Rassilon wanted me dead. He wanted to kill me as soon as the connection between Gallifrey and Earth faded and we got locked again in the War. And of course everybody was okay with that. But guess _who_ remembered them that we are supposed to be a civil people, with regular trials and such?"

"The Woman," the Doctor answered immediately. If there was someone with a still firm common sense, that was her.

"Exactly. Bless her. I think she knew they would decide to execute me anyway, but she wanted to give me time to come up with a plan. I think it was her way to thank me for helping you. Or maybe she simply wanted to piss off Rassilon." He laughed to himself. "They imprisoned me, and I didn't have much of a plan until you and your other selves performed that _little trick_. Delightful, by the way. Everybody just _panicked_. Rassilon was _furious_. The General had simply bypassed his authority and let you shut them in a pocket universe. In the mess of it, I broke out and stole a TARDIS. A type 20, bloody piece of junk. I calculated the weakest point in the dimensional wall of the pocket universe and transferred all the power in the transdimensional rotor-"

"But you pushed it too far," the Doctor interrupted. "You lost control. You couldn't control the landing and the energy levels… you exhausted the power?"

"Nearly. Just a drop of it remained, the poor piece of junk nearly died."

"But you were nowhere near The Rift or another place to refuel radiation. So you waited."

"Yes. I didn't have enough power to leave. I waited for it to recharge by itself, and when it was ready I went out to kill Ruperts… luckily the landing had been so messy that the Time Lords couldn't track me down- I opened a breach in your pocket universe, they came after me, they're chasing me."

The Doctor nodded. The presence of the Time Lords in the universe explained the sudden interest of the Cybermen in time travel. He wondered how he hadn't felt, in the depths of his mind, that his people was back. But of course there were ways they could use to hide their presence, developed during the War.

"You're asking me for help. That's why you're here."

"Yes, I-"

"Why did you ran in Victorian London?"

"Because-" his voice trailed lower. "I stayed there for a while… Vastra had… a _reputation_," he muttered. The Doctor nodded, knowing that the Master was alluding at the way the Silurian _dealt_ with criminals. "I recognised her and I just… didn't notice you or your smell… you had regenerated… only when I had already dematerialized my TARDIS I saw the presence of yours in the radar. I tracked you down and here I am."

"Wait a minute-" _tracked him down?_ "What do you know of the Family of Blood?"

"Ah. That. Right. That was ages ago…" the Master started, hesitant. "Back before the Year That Never Was."

"Go on," the Doctor ordered, anger flickering in his eyes.

"I might- uh- I might have hired them to chase you because I thought it could be… _fun_."

"I hate you," the Doctor said, stepping closer.

"Nah, you don't. Come on, you can't blame me: I'm nuts," the Master apologised, grinning.

The Doctor smiled back and held out his hand to the Master. In the end, whatever happened between them, they'd never stop needing each other. "What about the drums? Are they gone now?"

"Yes. It's- weird. I didn't remember how it was, to live without. I remembered when they weren't so loud, but I had sort of… got used to them." He squeezed the hand the Doctor was offering. "How long has it been, since we last-"

"Eleven centuries, give or take."

The Master gave a surprised, almost pained expression. "How many-"

"Regenerations? Twice."

"I missed one you," the Master muttered, looking upset.

"It happened before."

"Will you help me?"

Anger took over again in the Doctor's hearts, just for a second. "I don't remember you being so attached to your life, a while ago," he stated bitterly, remembering how, eleven centuries before, his friend had wanted to die in his arms rather than travel with him. It would have hurt in any life, but it had particularly in his tenth, when he had needed him most, when he wasn't any good alone. When he became dangerous for others and for himself when he didn't have someone by his side.

The Master stood silent, maybe knowing apologies were useless, maybe not willing to give any.

"It was a long time ago, Doctor," came Clara's voice suddenly, together with the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder. The Doctor's hand left the Master's, and he turned to face Clara. _'He hurt me. And not just me. He's mad. He's evil,_' his gaze seemed to tell her. "You know better than let them execute you friend. You are better than that. I know you are."

The Doctor stared into her brown eyes. She had told him that before, and he hadn't listened. He wasn't better than that, even if Clara didn't want to admit it. But maybe she pushed him to try to be. Maybe Clara would always believe he could be a better person, in the same way he had always hoped that _the Master_ could be a better person.

"I will help you," he stated after a brief silence, facing the Master again. "But you need to remind me something." The Master looked puzzled, and waited. "Did I ever punch you for refusing to regenerate?"

"No! No, of course you didn't… oh. Hell."

"Yeah."

The Master only had a second to close his eyes and tilt his head lightly before the Doctor's fist hit his cheekbone.

"_Doctor!_" Clara exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, my dear," he apologised, smirking as he massaged his knuckles, staring at the Master's unconscious form on the floor. "We had a score to settle."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I finally did it, it's the last chapter! Thank you so much for reading this story, and for all the support you've showed me: you have been wonderful!**

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"Coordinates," the Doctor ordered as the Master opened his eyes.

"Give me a minute, alright? You just knocked me out!" the younger Time Lord complained, getting up from the floor deliberately slowly.

"I said coordinates, you childish brat," the Doctor commanded, giving a not so gentle push to the Master's shoulder.

"Look at you, all foul-mouthed and rough. Did _you_ get him into that, pretty girl?"

"Another word about Clara and I-" the Doctor threatened.

"Yes, yes, yes," the blond man minimised. "He always gets so jealous about his little humans, doesn't he?" he asked, still addressing Clara.

The girl guessed easily that he was trying to purposely irritate the Doctor, just for the thrill of it. The blond alien smiled coyly at her.

"Don't you ever call me pretty girl again," Clara retorted. "I punch harder than the Doctor."

The Master gave her a roll of his eyes as if she had just proved his previous point.

"Come over here and give me the coordinates for Gallifrey."

"Alright, alright." The Master reached the Doctor at the console, and glanced at the monitor. "Do we have a plan?"

"Yes. We hand you over to Rassilon and hope for the best."

"_What?_"

"Well, you can't blame me!" the Doctor argued. "If I help you, they'll imprison me as your accomplice, considering what happened last time."

"I thought you were going to help me!"

"I _am_ helping you. Think about it. You can't run forever, you'll have to face your trial sooner or later. They have lost many valuable Lords and Ladies in the War, they will not desire to kill more of our own people. If you surrender now and cooperate, I think I can convince them to let you get away with a forced regeneration and the promise of _behaving yourself a little_. "

"I like this body!" the Master whined. "I can't burn up all my regenerations all over again, getting a new cycle is such a bother. And seriously do you really expect me to _behave_?"

"Look, I'm not saying you have to turn into a saint overnight, just _don't kill anyone_ for a while and then run away when the surveillance lowers. It would be a blessing for them, they wouldn't chase you. How far behind you are those who are chasing you anyway?"

The three of them heard a loud crash, and the walls quaked.

"I forgot to mention!" the Master shouted, to surpass the rumble of the shaking walls. "They're already here!"

~oOo~

The Doctor sat alone in the cold cell. As he had expected, even though they had surrendered when the Gallifreyan soldiers had arrived, Rassilon had ordered to imprison him, together with Clara and the Master.

The Doctor was furious with the Master, naturally. He had trusted his old friend, but he had lied to him again, used him. He closed his eyes and sighed, resting his head against the wall. He knew that the Master and Clara were in the nearby cells, but he had no way of communicating with them. He just hoped that Clara was okay.

In that moment, a soldier opened the door of his cell.

"My Lord Doctor. The President will see you now."

~oOo~

"You understand, Doctor, that to every action there is always a reaction," Rassilon said calmly, pacing the large empty room back and forth.

"You've imprisoned me and my companion-" the Doctor started.

"_Your lover_, you mean." The Doctor remained silent, not willing to deny his love for Clara but too proud to admit it openly in front of Rassilon. "Don't think I am blind to the passions of the heart," the President continued, "I am very aware of your weakness for them." Again, the Doctor didn't speak. He himself had _so often_, in this body, thought of his feelings as a weakness, and wasn't entirely sure of how to handle it yet. "You deceive yourself," Rassilon continued, in reply to the Doctor's silence. "But you have done so for long centuries now, and you were always too stubborn to accept reality."

"I might say the same about you," the Doctor retorted, trying to pull together his wounded pride.

Rassilon smirked bitterly.

"I am, however, not here to question your companies. I am here to make you a fair offer."

"Fair? Knowing you, I doubt it. And is it really an offer when I am in no position to refuse?"

Rassilon shrugged lightly and gave him a dismissive gesture. "Semantics." He paused for long moments. "In the last days, I have barely been able to hold our people together. I hear them, speaking behind my back, plotting against me. I have been reckless. Times are not mature yet for what I have planned, the Council is too short-sighted to see the righteousness of my picture. That is why I had hidden my final target to them until there was no possibility of going back. But you, Doctor, you had to ruin my dream of eternity!"

"You are insane," the Doctor stated coldly.

Rassilon smirked again. "So they say. I only wanted to bring our people the place we deserve in the universe, we could have become Gods!"

"I did _not_ came here to listen to your absurd ravings!" the Doctor snapped. Last time he had checked, Rassilon had tried to erase creation and turn the Time Lords in creatures of pure consciousness, free from the boundaries of the flesh. The Doctor wasn't going to let him try anything like that ever again. Rassilon had to be stopped.

"No, no, you didn't. You are here to accept what I offer: _the role of President in my place_. I will regain the respect of the Council by making you, the one who won the Time War, the leader of our people, and I will be allowed to wait safely until Gallifrey is ready to achieve the greatness we are owed."

"I won't let you do anything of the sort!" the Doctor exclaimed fiercely.

"Oh, but you will. You will accept my offer. Otherwise, the girl will die."

"_No_! You wouldn't-"

"_I will_. I assure you, I will. Accept my offer, Doctor, and the girl will return to Earth, unharmed, and with her memories intact. It is the most generous offer we have ever made to you, am I correct?"

The Doctor stared angrily at the President, his mind working relentlessly now to think of a plan to save his life and Clara's. Of course, he wanted to refuse the President's offer and finally do what he should have done eleven centuries before: kill Rassilon once and for all. On the other hand, the last thing he wanted was to put Clara in danger. Clara. His Clara who had always thought he was better, thought he knew better, thought he wasn't a killer. Clara who had always thought he was good and would eventually figure which the right thing to do was, no matter how stubborn and rough he had acted with her and with others. An idea started to form slowly in the Doctor's brain.

Rassilon spoke again:

"I won't leave you much time to think, my time is running short. Even for you, however, the choice shouldn't be complex: you have to choose between a simple human girl and your entire home planet. I believe you know with whom your loyalties are, where your place is."

"You are right, my Lord President," the Doctor answered eventually. "I know where my place is. I know with whom my loyalties are. I have always known." He inhaled slowly, trying to stead his breath. "I accept your offer."

~oOo~

Minutes later, the Doctor stood in front of the Master, his old friend's eyes looking up at him from his sitting position on the floor of his cell.

"Rassilon wants you dead," the Doctor started. "For real this time. No regeneration. No tricks."

"Were you expecting anything different? So, what's this? Are we doing sentimental? Should I start crying?" the younger Time Lord teased, immediately pretending to sniff and sob.

"Stop that," the Doctor scolded. "Can't you stay serious for a second?"

"Nah, that wold be boring. Anyways, unless you're getting me out of here, you have little to tell me."

"I have yet to decide." The Doctor paused for a long time, during which the Master regarded him carefully, trying to decipher his vague words. "According to justice, the right thing to do would be letting them execute you."

"Woah, thanks for your support, I really needed that."

"I said, 'according to justice'."

"And according to the Doctor?"

"If I'm really just that, just the Doctor, I should stay out of this," he reflected.

But no, that wasn't the answer. That wasn't what being the Doctor had meant to him. To him, it had always meant action. And causing trouble too, he remembered. After Trenzalore, sometimes he had the sense that he had lost himself. Maybe, he had only forgotten. Forgotten what being the Doctor meant, and maybe that was the reason Clara kept getting so angry with him and pushing him to be different.

"Are you just gonna sit there and watch me die, then?" the Master asked.

The Doctor answered with bending down to better face the other, grabbed the Master's hand firmly and squeezed it tight. The Master gave him a surprised look.

"Doctors don't fight," the Doctor answered, almost talking to himself. "Nor do they declare who lives and who dies. What they do… is _help_." He whispered the last word very low, only for the Master to hear.

The Doctor got up and turned his back to the blond Time Lord, but looked at him one last time before walking out of the door.

The younger Time Lord was staring at the sonic screwdriver in his hand, trying to figure out what it meant. "Thank you," he said suddenly, looking up at the Doctor. The Doctor winked at him, and the Master smiled.

The Doctor locked the door as he exited, making sure the guards saw him as he did so.

~oOo~

Clara was crying. She didn't want to, especially not there where everyone could see, but she couldn't help it. She wasn't usually one to cry, and she mostly did it out of anger or frustration rather than sadness. She hadn't expected, however, when the Gallifreyan soldiers had imprisoned them, that it would be the last time she would see the Doctor.

They had taken her out of her cell, telling her she was free to go home. She had asked for the Doctor. They had said she would have to go alone. Now she was sitting there on the floor of the vast landing bay, her back against a column, waiting for someone to pilot a TARDIS to take her home. She had questioned every person that had entered the room about the Doctor and his fate, but none of them had wanted to answer. There were guards at each door and there was no way she could walk past them or escape. Ultimately, she could see no hope whatsoever, which explained her tears.

"You have no reason to cry, my dear," came a voice Clara recognised too well.

She quickly wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and looked up, only to find the Doctor glancing down at her, a little smirk curving his lips.

"You- you-" she stammered, her emotions a powerful mixture of confusion, relief, anger and happiness. "_Where the hell have you been_?" she snapped, rapidly getting on her feet. "I- I thought you were _dead_ or _worse_!"

She moved to slap him, but he stopped her hand.

"Shush, just let me explain."

He pulled her close and pressed a long, firm kiss on her lips. The guards at the doors turned their backs. The Doctor glanced at them as he kept kissing her.

"Showing affection in public, makes people uncomfortable," he explained, breaking the kiss and releasing her wrist.

"So you were only kissing me _to distract the guards_?" Clara hissed.

"Yes, but I enjoyed every second of it," he answered, smirking cheekily. "We have a little time for ourselves now, I think."

"What's the plan?" Clara asked, knowing that he had one.

"Rassilon wants me to rule Gallifrey in his place. In exchange, you can return to Earth safe and sound and live your life. I told him I accepted his conditions."

At those words, Clara's world seemed to fall into pieces around her. She felt her lungs contract as she exhaled, but she found herself unable to breathe in again afterwards. She lost her balance. The floor became suddenly closer. Then, two strong arms grabbed her securely and she found herself breathing heavily against the Doctor's chest.

"Hey. Clara. Look at me. _Clara_," he called. "I lied to Rassilon," the Doctor reassured.

Her eyes searched his. "You did?"

"Of course. I needed to get us both out of here didn't I? Now, we need to run to the TARDIS, okay? Do you think you're done with your little panic attack, hmm?" he teased.

"God, you're such an idiot," she whispered, voice broken. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Don't be silly. Did you really think I'd leave you alone? You're not getting rid of me that easily, dear." He held her close, indulging in the contact even though he knew they had little time left to run. Whatever the situation, _his place was with Clara Oswald_, and he was loyal to her and to himself only.

"How are we going to escape? You said it yourself, we can't run forever," Clara argued.

"Oh, I think they'll be busy enough with someone else… I might have _accidentally dropped _my sonic in the Master's cell."

Clara beamed at him. "You didn't let him die."

He nodded. "Everybody lives. How's that for a plan?"

"But-" she started almost timidly, afraid he would agree with her- "are you sure you don't want to stay? I'd understand. After all, this is your home."

"Clara. Clara, Clara, Clara. This isn't my home. Not really," the Doctor said, giving her a knowing grin and taking her hand in his as they started to run. As they covered the distance that separated them from his TARDIS as fast as possible, Clara remembered something her mother used to tell her when she was little:

"_Home is where your heart is."_

_**THE END**_


End file.
